Dark Dreamer
by Gatekat
Summary: Dead story. Bayverse, Jazz/Prowl. The young Prime is presented with a slave he doesn't know what to do with. Fortunately he has a long-standing place to put mecha that he doesn't want to think about. This'll be a long, dark one folks. You've been warned. Jazz ... is not a nice mech behind closed doors.
1. Jazz's New Pet

Fandom: Transformers Bayverse-ish AU  
Author: gatekat  
Pairing: Jazz/Prowl (mostly)  
Rating: NC-17  
Codes: AU, Slavery, Tactile, Sticky, Noncon, Self Mutilation, Bondage, Violence, Mechpreg, graphic ref to past 'child' sexual abuse ... seriously, if you have a trigger, it's probably in here somewhere.

Summary: The young Prime is presented with a slave he doesn't know what to do with. Fortunately he has a long-standing place to put mecha that he doesn't want to think about.  
Written for (tfanonkink .livejournal 11776 .html?thread=12048128#t12048128)  
This'll be a long, dark one folks. You've been warned. Jazz ... is not a nice mech behind closed doors.

Disclaimer: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal 290 .html) We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.

Notes: Prowl is my tri-wing design: alteride .deviantart art/Commission-Resonance-Prowl-254774764  
Teek: to read another's EM field. It can provide information on identity, age, strength, health, emotional and mental state and other factors that influence the spark or energy running the frame. Term originated by (fanfiction u/120188/Dwimordene), though I don't hold strictly to her definition.

nanoklik = 1/8 second;  
klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds;  
breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes;  
groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours;  
joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours;  
orn = 42 joor/13.02 days;  
decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years;  
metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years;  
vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years;  
::text:: comm chatter  
~text~ hardline/bond chatter

**Dark Dreamer 1: Jazz's New Pet**  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ =================== ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ironhide's bellows carried easily over the chaos of the warehouse raid, directing his soldiers and the Kaon Enforcers to their targets, as well as warning the criminals that this wasn't a law enforcement raid to be bribed out of or run from.

This was a raid under the order of the High Lord Prime Himself, deemed worthy of sending His personal guard to oversee it.

It was also a clear and open warning that any failure to comply was grounds to be shot. The Prime's Guard operated under battlefield law at all times and such was a well-known fact. Almost as well known as the visage, frame and voice of the Captain of the Guard, a mech who had served four Primes and seven Lord High Protectors in his long and prominent existence.

Even if one did not respect the young Prime, to disrespect His Guard was as good as walking into the smelter and the old Captain was more than happy to escort any who disrespected his master and charge.

The blaster fire and shouts quieted quickly. Prisoners were rounded up, cataloged by a lithe quicksilver minibot that was Ironhide's opposite in every way but a matching loyalty to the Prime.

More gradually the warehouse's contents were brought out, a cell's worth at a time, to be inspected by the medical staff from Iacon, interviewed by the more social of Jazz's crew, tagged with their city of origin and instructions for their care once they arrived there.

It was past dawn and the work all but complete, the criminals and enforcers long gone, when a commotion towards the back drew Ironhide's attention. Bored as he was, any hint of excitement had him moving towards it. A pair of his soldiers, mecha who he'd seen handle riots and mad-mecha, were struggling to pin one of the last slaves. The furiously thrashing creature was mid-sized, storm gray with splashes of red and gold, and had definite combat training. But what caught Ironhide's attention were the appendages on his back.

"Praxian?" he muttered, shocked to see one, especially one with such a fighting spirit. This slave ring didn't trade to the arenas. They avoided them. Still, training kicked in and he stalked over to grab the mech by both shoulders and held him out at arms length. "Calm down, we're here to free you."

The Praxian stilled slightly, and under the scuffs, dents and whip-marks Ironhide could see the transformation attempts of shoulder mounted weapons trying to deploy, only there was nothing to deploy anymore. Two wing panels marked a mecha that had been kindled free and at least of the middle class, possibly higher, but not a noble or royal. He also realized rather abruptly that even holding the mech tightly he couldn't teek him and the plating was cool to the touch.

Growled with a hiss, the Praxian's sensor wings clicking against Ironhide's arms lightly as he squirmed, trying to wriggle free. Ironhide considered the mech he held, the clawed and scuffed warriors that he'd tried to fight off, only to answer a comm from Jazz as he was deciding.

::Bring him here, 'Hide,:: the quicksilver mech said, as close to an order as he ever issued to the big warrior. ::Trust me. I can get him to still.::

::All right,:: Ironhide agreed, somewhat reluctantly. He turned to walk the squirming, hissing, unteekable mech to Jazz, knowing well how deceiving those smiling lip plates could be and how the black glass visor concealed intent.

The instant the slave's pedes hit the ground he dug his claws in and tried to lunge from Ironhide's grasp. A tiny flare of determination brought his field close enough to his plating for Ironhide to catch a faint teek of it. It was a futile effort, but it gave both mecha a clear view of his goal; the open door beyond Jazz.

Jazz cooed, a soft, melodic humming buzz and clicking that wove around him as he stepped forward, into the slave's personal space. To Ironhide's surprise, the Praxian stilled, even relaxed slightly, and didn't tense when Jazz spread his fingers across the Praxian's chest, over his spark.

::What did you do?:: Ironhide demanded across an encrypted comm.

::Talked to him in Praxian. Proper, undiluted formal ancient Praxian,:: Jazz responded, his tone a bit sad. ::I don't think he knows any other dialect.:: Before Ironhide could ask anything else, Jazz flared his field, focused through his hand and deep into the Praxian's frame.

A sharp keen and panic tore through the mech, but he stilled, panting through his chest vents and spent as Jazz withdrew his field, though not his hand.

::So ... when we talked to him, it was so much gibberish?:: Ironhide scowled at the trembling creature in his grip. ::What else did you learn?::

::He's young, 'Hide,:: Jazz's tone was definitely sad. ::_Real_ young. Too young to have been kindled. He's also not registered.::

The big black mech jerked slightly at that.

"Yeah, he's an illegal spark," Jazz huffed before making a smooth movement along the slave's neck that dropped him into stasis. "This one's not going to Praxus. He's the property of the Prime now."

* * *

Optimus, the latest of those to inherit the title of Prime and the divine connection that came with it, sat in a throne of a chair and behind a desk that was as designed to impress as the office they were in. Behind him stood his Lord High Protector, a giant of a silver mech that had served as such for two Primes before this one. The entire display was intended to invoke awe and submission in those who entered the room, but the lithe silver minibot was not to be intimidated by prestige, wealth or power.

The purity of the spark that powered the young Prime's frame was intimately familiar to Jazz, and he feared nothing he knew.

The scowl on the Prime's normally gentle visage was almost enough to make him fidget, however.

"It is the law, my Prime," Megatron rumbled softly enough that only the Prime should have been able to hear. "An illegally sparked mech must be your property or there is no incentive to stop the practice."

The Prime allowed his field to speak of his opinion of that to his elder, a mech he relied on often to guide his leadership and understanding of the laws that were not always driven by the spark. The slender fingers of a priest templed in font of the Prime's features, he regarded one of the few mecha who was not overtly submissive towards him, nor treated him as a youngling.

It gave Jazz a very special place in the Prime's world and processors.

"It's true, Boss-bot," Jazz chirped. "The mech's not fit for society, I'm afraid. Even with intensive work he won't be for a long time."

"Ironhide said that you can communicate with him, that you calmed him," Prime rumbled. "How?"

"I'm probably the first person ta say anything he's understood in metacycles," Jazz shrugged. "He'd behave for you, and you know formal ancient Praxian."

The powerful convoy grade engine in the Prime's chassis rumbled in displeasure. "What am _I_ to do with him? I do not have time to rehabilitate him."

"There are other things to do, my Prime," Megatron rumbled in his audial. "I've seen this mech. He cleans up quite attractively. I'm sure he will fall into our berth as willingly as any other commoner."

"All the more reason for him not to be near it," Optimus rumbled in reply, his field snapping a sharp rebuke at his High Lord Protector. He focused on Jazz. "You've taken in foundlings before."

Jazz cycled his visor, visibly startled by the statement. "Well, sure, when I'm going to take one into my crew."

"Is there any reason this one would do poorly in your crew?" Deep, warm blue optics bore into Jazz.

"Well, no, Boss-bot," Jazz admitted as he settled into the idea. "He's got the spunk to manage, once I socialize and train him."

"Then you will do so," the Prime instructed. "Do what you need to so he can become a productive member of society."

"Will do, Boss-bot," Jazz gave a flourish of a salute and bounded out of the room.

"Why so eager to be rid of him, my Prime?" Megatron's deep voice softened with genuine affection and loyalty it was impossible not to teek.

Prime x-vented deeply and leaned into the strong hand on his shoulder. "I have enough to tend to. You know I do not wish anger or slavery close to my recharge."

"Yes, you are very different that way, my Prime," Megatron lowered his helm to gently touch the Prime's, a touch far more intimate than they displayed in public. "Very different."

* * *

From the outside, Jazz's smile was almost perpetually cheery. His presence was welcomed anywhere, a boost to the mood and flare of any party. His favors in the berth were highly sought after and freely given. Much of Cybertron's elite and many lower down believed they knew Jazz. And they did, in a way. They knew the public Jazz. The Jazz that was _not_ the conductor of Special Operations' shadow wars, a mech with nearly as much power as the Prime Himself.

In the security and safety of his wing of the Prime's Palace, or rather _under_ it, in the sprawling complex that not even the High Lord Protector knew of, Jazz allowed his true smile to creep through and twist his cheerful features into a visage that bode ill for whoever it was directed at. It was still a pleased smile, but it was a look that had every being grateful it wasn't directed at them as he strolled by.

Only two creatures in this shadow empire did not fear him. His SIC, who was the mirror image of himself with a matte black finish where Jazz sported silver polished to a near chrome finish and a stern, grim look where Jazz wore a smile. With their matching frametypes, many believed that Jazz and Whiplash were twins and the black one was the evil one. It was a perception that neither dissuaded.

A datapad slid into Whiplash's hand, no doubt from the other entity that did not fear Jazz. His CMO.

"Temperance finished with him?" Jazz asked cordially, extending his hand for the datapad.

"Yes," Whiplash handed it over smoothly. "The meeting go well?"

"Better than I dared hope for," Jazz actually purred, deep and resonant in his pleasure. "Just the echo of that mech's field on me was enough to drive the Prime to be rid of him. I didn't even get the chance to offer. He actually ordered me to take care of him. Gave him to me in full, for Ops."

"I'm impressed," Whiplash gave his master a nod. "This one seems easier to manipulate than Sentinel."

"And _far_ easier to control than Nova," Jazz agreed as he flicked the datapad on, waited for it to confirm his ID via his field and then scanned the contents. He saw what he expected to, a few things he didn't, but overall it was the picture of a very young sparked mecha perfect for indoctrination. That malicious, eager smile spread further.

"I'll ping you if Prime calls," Whiplash ruffled his armor.

"I'll ping you when I'm free again," Jazz agreed absently and walked onto his quarters, through the common room and into the berthroom, still studying the pad in his hand. The door slid open smoothly to a delightful sight.

The storm gray mech was on his knees, helm and shoulders bowed because arms were spread and bound there. Two panel sensor wings, the most elegant and distinctive feature, were settled loosely.

To Jazz, he was looking at a mecha who was well accustomed to the uncomfortable and submissive position and it hadn't put a dent in his fire. Whoever had created this mech had their hands full with him until the slavers had gotten him. Not even those much harsher methods had done much, though Jazz was willing to bet it had made him even more violent and reactionary. He double-checked that his linguistic file on the most ancient form of Praxian was fully loaded. It was a dialect only one shift away from ancient High Vosian and as much about frame as vocalizations, so the Praxian's ability to use it was rather limited by his bindings, but he'd be able to use enough with his wings unbound. It wasn't as if Jazz planned to ask much more than yes or no questions for tonight.

Jazz knelt in front of his new toy and brought the mech's face up with a finger under his chin. The beautiful creature growled at him, a sound more from his engine than vocalizer, bared his denta in threat and field pulled in too tightly to teek without forcefully invading the mech's frame as Jazz had done before.

"I know you have a mechanimal's vocalizer," Jazz spoke in the melodic, lilting dialect he didn't really have the frame to fully utilize. He noted with pleasure that it had much the same effect that it had before. The Praxian stilled, his growl muted, though that warning snarl was still in place. "Do you know enough Praxian to answer yes or no with your wings?"

Both wings flicked up, bringing the primary joint above the line of his crimson chevron, held there for a steady four nanokliks, then dropped back to neutral.

"Good," Jazz purred. "Are you hungry?"

Ice blue optics regarded him warily, but the wings lifted again, holding steady for the same four nanokliks and dropped once more.

Jazz pulled a cube of good quality midgrade from his subspace and felt as much as saw just how hungry his new pet was now that there was energon in range. The quiver was tiny, the flash in those icy optics brief, but they were there.

"Then drink," Jazz cooed gently as he lifted the cube to his pet's lips and tipped it slightly. Experience from both training mecha and caring for badly injured ones made the move an easy one, and he watched carefully. It mattered a great deal how much experience the recipient had. It didn't surprise Jazz in the least when his pet reacted as one familiar with how to drink from another's hand, even if he didn't approve of the situation.

With the cube half gone, Jazz resealed it and put it back in his subspace. "And now for twenty questions," he grinned at his pet, earning a dirty look and growl in reply. With a laugh Jazz flopped on his protoform-grade berth and relaxed. His optics on the chained mech across the room, he reviewed the questions he could ask, sorting them into categories and prioritizing them by the value of the information they were likely to provide.

"Were you sparked a slave?" Jazz began with something that it was reasonable for him to have guessed, and to ask.

Wings lifted in a yes, once more holding that precise timing of four nanokliks before dropping to rest.

Jazz nodded. "Do you have a designation?"

This time the Praxian seemed to startle, craning his neck to look at Jazz. His face remained impassive, but his sensor wings clicked lightly against his frame in confusion and distress. Jazz gave him time, watching and cataloging every tiny movement while the question was processed. Temperance indicated that he had reasonable processor power. Nothing on Jazz's level, but adequate for many functions and capable of being upgraded to an impressive level over time.

Slowly, sensor wings lowered and flattened to indicate a no.

"Well, we can not have that," Jazz huffed. "Do you have one you use when you think of yourself?"

Again there was a significant pause before those enticing wings dropped once more.

"Mmm, then I guess we will just have to go with something I think up," Jazz considered his pet for a long moment.

"Stormcloud," he pronounced a verdict. "Yes, that seems to suit you. Colors, ill tempered, violent, nearly uncontrollable, predictable only with great understanding. Yes, that will suit you nicely. What do you think?"

The young slave considered Jazz for a lingering time before lifting his wings in a hesitant agreement.

"Good," Jazz purred, delighted with how cooperative his new project was being. He had no doubt that would come to an end, but for now it was a good sign that there was enough of a processor in there to work with. "Now, Temperance indicates that you have several sub-standard systems beyond your vocalizer. Do you want those upgraded?"

Stormcloud froze, his sensor wings flared slightly in a marked reaction of uncomprehending surprise. Jazz allowed him time to process the words, their literal meaning and any implications the slave's processor could come up with. Slowly those wings lowered from surprise to neutral, then flicked in an awkward looking one up, one down posture that could either mean "don't care" or "uncertain", depending on how Jazz interpreted it. While it meant one or the other, Jazz wasn't quite good enough with the dialect's frame language to be sure.

"I suppose that will do," he grunted. "You will go in for surgery in the morning. At least I want more than yes or no answers from you."

That weird shrug happened again, one wing up and one down, only it was with a different tilt. It might mean something specific to another wing-frame, but Jazz could only work out that it was another neutral-ish response. He nodded anyway. As long as it wasn't "frag off" it was good enough for now. It was still cooperation, and cooperation deserved a reward.

"If I unchain you, will you remain on the berth until I tell you otherwise?" Jazz offered, patting the space next to him. He knew it was the finest berth padding in existence, something even nobles were proud to own, and he knew that it was apparent at a glance just how luxurious it was.

He was not expecting a mecha without interfacing protocols to have any reason to think it a trap, yet there was no doubt in Jazz's CPU that a trap, a very nasty one, was exactly what Stormcloud's sudden tension indicated he thought it was. It churned his tanks. Jazz could count on one hand the number of things that he was morally opposed to.

::'Lash, when we find out who commissioned him, put them on the short list,:: he growled over the comm.

::Right. Reason?:: The black mech replied with practiced ease to seemingly random demands.

::My new pet equates a berth to a nasty trap,:: he let the implications settle in his SIC's processor and caught the hateful snarl when they did.

::With pleasure,:: Whiplash growled before Jazz closed the line.

Jazz knew the priority of finding Stormcloud's origins just went up several levels from a slightly more than a passive search to a high priority active mission an agent would be assigned to. Quite likely Whiplash himself.

"I won't touch you like that," he promised, his tone softening. "Just lay next to me."

Ice blue optics continued to bore into him, judging, calculating, weighing risk, reward and choices.

Very, very cautiously, the sensor wings rose in confirmation, hung there for four nanokliks and dropped down to neutral once more.

"Good," Jazz brightened instantly and swung off the berth. With little concern for his safety, he knew he could drop this feisty mech easily, he walked up to Stormcloud and signaled the locks to open. He wasn't surprised by the sudden surge of motion that carried the noticeably larger mech to his pedes and two steps away from the chains.

Jazz watched in mild amusement that despite the motion, his pet seemed very confused to be standing, unchained, in the middle of the room.

"Go on, on the berth," Jazz motioned towards it, but carefully made no move to try and force, or even touch, the skittish and volatile mech. The more Stormcloud was willing to do because of an agreed-upon trade, the better. He'd learn that Jazz was good to his word on such things. Whether it was turbo-puppies or mecha, consistency and timing were the keys to training and Jazz respected that truth.

Ice blue optics stared at him for a long moment, then the sensor wings pulled in tight as Stormcloud made his way to the berth and climbed on it, shifting to the back by some former training. His sensor wings quivered as he turned around, still kneeling and half supported by his hands, to watch Jazz flop onto the plush, pliant surface that molded to every contour of a frame.

"Stay on the berth and there will be energon when I get up," Jazz told him before shutting down for a light recharge. He would have to be much more certain of this mech before he shut down to a level that prevented him from protecting himself.

A klik passed. Then a breem. Then two. Finally Stormcloud moved to lay down. Jazz could feel the tension in that frame without touching, but he let it be. He wouldn't ask his pet to relax. Only to stay. Obedience was all he wanted for the moment. Trust would come later, and with this one it would be hard won.

* * *

Prowl watched his new master power down for recharge, but his processors were spinning too fast to try to do the same himself. Master was a pretty mech for an outsider, he freely admitted it to himself. Shiny, gentle, generous ... and very confusing. That mirror finish would be a lot of work to maintain, but maybe if he did that well, Master would not demand more than he currently was in this berth.

It was a _nice_ berth. Soft. Warm. Supportive. It was a place that Prowl was sure he could quickly come to enjoy.

That thought was almost enough to sent him scuttling to the floor, but he stopped himself with barely more than a twitch. Master had ordered him to stay. Master had been good to him. It was a bad idea to invite pain by disobeying when he was not sure that disobeying would be the less distressing choice. He more than half wished Master had other slaves in the room. It was an unspoken rule that the older slaves would teach the new ones what was expected, what Master's quirks were, how to avoid the worst of Master's temper and the best way to respond when it was unavoidable. Some masters liked whimpering and begging, others wanted silent acceptance, and one Prowl had heard of wanted his slaves to show arousal when punished. That one he had stopped trying to comprehend, even though he could never completely let go of picking at the strange idea.

With some effort he focused on replaying every nanoklik of memories and information he had on Master. It wasn't much, but he had to admit that this was far better than any other first orn with a master. Reluctantly, still uneasy, he laid on his back and bit back the deep moan that wanted to escape. This felt sinfully good. Anything this good must have a beating coming to pay for it, yet Master had ordered him.

So Prowl remained, slowly cycling down for badly needed recharge.

He couldn't even remember how long it had been since he'd had more than a few breems of uneasy recharge at a time. How long since a full defrag cycle? Had he ever managed it?

He couldn't remember that either.

How he booted up and when would tell him so much more about functioning under this master.


	2. Upgrades

**Dark Dreamer 1: Upgrades**  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ =================== ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jazz twitched as he stepped into medical and did not see Temperance or his pet. It had been three orns. It was all the time she'd asked for. He'd been surprised at first, but soon understood just how massive a rebuild he'd requested.

"Lord Jazz," a frightened voice trying to be strong caught his attention. Failsafe, one of Temperance's more gifted interns. "Lord Temperance has sent glyph requesting that you join her and Stormcloud in recovery room one."

Jazz nodded and walked there. He knew this space as intimately as any medic in his crew and owned it as much as he did any location in this domain. The door opened at his approach and he took in the visible markers of his pet's new hardware.

"He's going to have difficulty with basic movements for a few orns," Temperance spoke without looking up from her monitors. "His mass has increased by a good twenty three percent, and it's not all balanced the way he's used to."

Jazz simply nodded and walked up to the table where Stormcloud was in post-op stasis. "Any complications?"

"Thankfully not," she did sound relieved. "However," and now she did look at her boss, "there will be no strenuous activity for him for at least a decaorn. That includes no interfacing. Treat him like he's just had the full frame rebuild that he's had and it's only half done."

"Got it," Jazz accepted the orders easily, even if he was annoyed at being told he'd have to wait so long to really _touch_ his pet. "What if he explores on his own?"

Temperance huffed. "In the unlikely event that he does, don't stop him. Just don't join in either."

"He has all the protocols?" Jazz pressed, his gaze lifting from his pet's more solid frame to the CMO. "Everything's installed correctly?"

"Physically, yes. Everything is installed and working," she locked optics with him. "It will likely take him several orns to get his vocalizer to match up fully with the linguistic files."

Jazz scowled. "Why so long? Sparked mecha, even kindled ones can talk and walk within kliks."

A deep rumble growled up from her engine. "There were some very ugly anti-learning protocols. When they built him, they made sure he could not pick up much of anything from exposure. New skills had to be programmed in, not learned. I'll be working on him for most of a vorn, and they've already done their damage. He doesn't _think_ about learning from his environment, and he still can't."

"That ... that doesn't even make sense," Jazz tried to wrap his processors around the concept and decided that he had found a new item for that incredibly short list of things he was morally opposed to. Learning, adaptation, were the very foundation of their species. To deny it, especially to one so young and innocent ... the mecha who'd ordered Stormcloud and who'd built him would pay dearly for their offences.

Perhaps Stormcloud would have advanced enough by then to have a hand in that punishment.

That thought brought a genuine smile to Jazz's features, and it was a frightening look.

"Here's the full documentation," Temperance pinged Jazz a sizeable file. "I want to see him in four orns, or when he can walk steadily, whichever comes first."

"No problem," Jazz nodded, turning serious. This may be a pet, a slave, a _project_, but he took his duties in this as seriously as he took anything. "If he's going to be that unsteady I'd like him to wake in my quarters."

Temperance nodded. "Failsafe will transport him there. Are you going to be present when he boots?"

"Yes," Jazz nodded, his features set. He watched the nervous but competent intern transfer Stormcloud to a hover stretcher, then waved him to follow. "I'll take good care of your work," he promised Temperance on the way out, and chuckled softly at her huff.

* * *

_Systems initialized ... stand-by_

_Core programming initialization ... Completed._

_Running stability check. ... completed. Stabilized._

_Emotional protocols online._

_Systems check ... Connecting ... Completed._

_Analyzing Systems:_  
_HUD online._  
_HUD: upgraded._  
_Primary Sensornet online_.  
_Primary Sensornet: upgraded._  
_Sensor suite on stand by._  
_Interface systems: initializing._

Say what?

_Interface systems-protocols: online and functional._  
_Interface systems-hardline: online and functional._  
_Interface systems-spike online and functional._  
_Interface systems-valve online and functional._

_Reproductive systems: initializing._

No!

Prowl's frame would have spasmed with the strength of his denial if he'd had any control of it yet.

_Reproductive systems-sire protocols: operational._  
_Reproductive systems-sire hardware: operational._  
_Reproductive systems-carrier protocols: operational._  
_Reproductive systems-carrier hardware: operational._  
_Reproductive systems: disabled. Spark strength insufficient._

Slowly Prowl's spark rate calmed down. So he had the hardware now. If his systems wouldn't activate it, it didn't matter if it was installed or not.

_Weapons systems disabled._  
_Vocalizer enabled._  
_Vocalizer: upgraded._

Now that was going to prove useful.

_Ranged communications: operational._  
_Ultra-short range communications: enabled._  
_Short range communications: disabled._  
_Long range communications: disabled._

Ranged communications? That was new too. Was there anything important that wasn't new?

_Self repair online._  
_Energon pump and lines at optimal functioning._  
_Hydraulics online._  
_Lubrication network online _

_Running Systems Check ... Completed._

_Connecting data files._

_Prowl was reluctant to boot to full awareness after the automatic sequence brought him to basic awareness early on in the post-medical boot cycle. He knew when he'd gone under that there would be a massive number of hardware and software changes to integrate, and so far the list was proving even more extensive that he'd anticipated. Even his neural network had been worked on, expanded extensively. He couldn't even begin to grasp why, but it made him uneasy._

_He'd be so much easier to bring to the braking point with pain now._

_The thought, and the memories it triggered, drew a shiver from the booting frame. Wings rubbed on the luxurious berth and drew a soft moan that Prowl wasn't quite aware of his frame enough to prevent._

_"You have a lovely voice," Master's words penetrated Prowl's awareness and drew enough priority to slow the boot process to deal with them. With no question or order given, no response was either. Yet it was enough to bring Prowl the rest of the way to full awareness._

_His optics lit, taking in his master's visage. It seemed pleased. That was good. He wasn't so sure about having Master lying next to him, prompted up on his side and watching intently._

_"How are you feeling?" Master asked. "Try to use words."_

_Prowl had to scramble to correlate a passably accurate answer, and longer to understand the complex commands to make his new vocalizer crackle out a strange sounding "disoriented."_

_Was that his voice?_

_"That's to be expected," Master's voice was gentle. His small silver hand, the claws deadly sharp, reached over to rest on the center of Prowl's chest, over his spark._

_The shiver it sent through Prowl's systems was only partially fear. The rest ... he didn't know what to call it. His new protocols labeled it mild pleasure-arousal, something desirable. Prowl wasn't so sure he liked it, or where it was going along the new protocols._

_He was sure he didn't like it when the sensation increased as Master's claws slid along his chest plates, stroking lightly. That caused his interface protocols began to ping for activation. Prowl ruthlessly denied them and suppressed the sensation, shunting it to a deletion spool._

_Master's smile reinforced that the response was desirable, however. "You are truly a lovely mech," he purred deeply before removing his hand. "I have duties to attend to," Master said as he got up. "Temperance said that you would be disoriented and take several orns to find your balance and get used to all the upgrades. You are free to explore my quarters and use anything you find here, including the energon dispenser and washracks. Do not attempt to open any door that does not open when you walk up to it. Understood?"_

_Instead of the vocalizer he wasn't at all sure would produce the correct sounds, Prowl shifted mostly upright and canted his wings in understanding. At least that he knew would not be misinterpreted._

_"Good. Try to get used to that vocalizer. I expect to be able to talk with you when I get home after joor forty," Master said firmly._

_"Yes, Master," Prowl managed awkwardly, and was rewarded by a bright approving smile._

_"The computer will talk to you and help correct your pronunciation, if you ask it to," Jazz added as he walked from the room, giving a glimpse of a large, finely decorated room beyond it._

_Prowl remained on the berth, still as a statue for a full half breem before gradually sliding down to his back with a groan that was equal parts physical pleasure and emotional relief. He had at least thirty-nine joors if Master returned when indicated. For now, he only wished to lie still until he could catalog and understand what each of the changes to his frame and protocols did and meant._

_A joor later, after testing joints and limbs one at a time, Prowl carefully sat up with his pedes over the edge of the berth, resting light on the ground, and waited for his gyros to all stabilize. It barely took a nanoklik, but that was slow relative to what he had been accustomed to. Moving slowly was still advised, so move slowly was what Prowl did. Each stage of standing was completed, paused so internal systems could stabilize, then the sequence progressed one stage._

_In all, it took nearly half a klik to stand up and feel stable, but accomplishing it was worth the time for Prowl. He now knew he could stand up with reasonable confidence._

* * *

_"I thought you'd be dealing with your new project," Ironhide's gruff rumble simply earned a cheerful smile from Jazz. "It's been four orns and you've been up here the whole time."_

_"He's finally out of medbay to get many of his missing systems and protocols installed. I wanted to see what he'd do with free run of my quarters for the orn. Besides, it's informative to watch what he'll do when he thinks no one is watching," Jazz chuckled. "I want to know what he's made of."_

_Bright blue optics cycled as Ironhide stared at the slender minibot. "You gave him free run of your quarters?"_

_"Sure," Jazz shrugged, then giggled. "Ahh, he's cute," he offered a ping to patch Ironhide into the vid feed from his quarters. "He's finally standing up. Taking his time with it to."_

_"He's bigger," Ironhide observed._

_Jazz huffed. "You wouldn't believe the list of hardware he was missing. Temperance had her work cut out for her. She did a good job though, even if only half the work is done. Something about only doing so much editing before it'd crash him."_

_"Given the job she usually has, I expect it was easy," Ironhide huffed, then dropped the feed as the Praxian took a careful, awkward step. "What's his designation?"_

_"Didn't have one," Jazz grumbled, then shrugged with a playful smile. "So he's Stormcloud. It suits him."_

_"Trouble then," Ironhide hid a smirk. "I'd say have fun, but I feel sorry for the poor glitch."_

_"I'll treat him better than anyone else who's had him," Jazz challenged lightly. "Or is it because you wanted his pretty aft?"_

_"Not my type and you know it," Ironhide growled at him and stalked off._

_"No, you like them free and fiery," Jazz grinned to himself and continued on his way. He really did have work to do, but mostly he just wanted to see what his pet would do when given so much freedom and a clear restriction. Jazz had every intention of staying away until his pet was either bored enough to recharge, or bored enough to challenge the boundaries he'd been given. Neither answer was wrong, but it would be very telling of the basic personality and existing training._

_As he settled into his public office, he kicked his pedes up on the desk and pinged the non-secured datafeeds from across the empire to run on his massive holo-display while the secure ones fed directly to his processor. His pet was a lovely creature, one he was eager to train for the berth, but he was also determined to be gentle about it. Jazz was already sure that interfacing as punishment wasn't going to be that effective on this one._

_His mental attention trailed along his pet's frame as Stormcloud moved carefully to the berthroom door that Jazz had walked through, pausing to see if it opened for him. When it did, allowing him to look at Jazz's entry/party room, the Praxian paused, one hand on the doorframe as he studied the space, but didn't linger on any given object._

_Jazz scowled. There should have been something in the room that caught his attention. Instead the young mech carefully walked along the wall to the energon dispenser and poured himself a full cube, drinking it slowly before walking slowly through the room, headed for the door on the far side. It was a door that wouldn't open for him as it lead to the hallway, but Stormcloud didn't know that yet._

_A careful study of his pet suggested that Stormcloud was walking more steadily, though no less cautiously, as he approached another door that wouldn't open for him. Jazz's private office was off limits to everyone. A forty-eight nanoklik pause, exactly what the entry door received, and Stormcloud moved on, returning to the berth room and working his way to the door that would open._

_The washrack._

_Jazz leaned forward despite the fact that the display was going on inside his processors. This was what he'd wanted to watch._

* * *

_Prowl took his time in moving despite the fact that he felt fine after the cube of energon. He knew it had been risky, but he'd needed it. All he could hope for was that Master didn't punish him, that he was true to his word and the energon was available to Prowl. In exchange for the promise, Prowl did not abuse and take more than his systems wanted._

_Finally, a door that opened, and to the prize no less. A faint tremor passed down Prowl's frame, causing his armor to click as he made a short prayer that Master had included his dialect of Praxian in the commands the computer recognized._

_Carefully Prowl pinged the handful of frequencies he had access to, rotating through them slowly as he waited for a ping back acknowledging the computer received it. The fourth one brought a reply, the simple 'waiting for orders' ping that meant he had the authority to give at least some orders, assuming he had a language it knew._

_::Washrack on. Standard solvent. Temperature 377.::_

_The system cycled up and solvent streamed out at just enough under its boiling point that it didn't evaporate before pooling. With a shiver of anticipation Prowl stepped under it and stood still for a long moment, simply allowing the wet heat to stream along his plating and begin to seep in. As his optics flickered off a groan of pure, uncomplicated pleasure escaped his vocalizer. It would have startled him, how different he sounded with a real vocalizer, if he wasn't so caught up with enjoying being warm._

_His protoform quivered under his armor, crying out for the warmth it could feel seeping towards it. Sounds he would never dare allow escape near a master's hearing flowed freely without witness. His frame trembled as armor loosened; he could no longer hold it closed._

_The sharp sound that escaped his vocalizer over the roar of his engine at that first touch of near-boiling solvent running under the panels of his armor and into the sensitive internals did startle him, but it felt too good to care. His entire frame trembling in a mounting bliss like nothing he could recall, Prowl opened his vents for the first time in his short existence in an effort to cool himself down. The reflexive action was soon shut down by a far stronger desire to be warm. He fluffed his armor out instead to appease the internal warnings, which only served to bring more heat in._

_Turning to put his back and wings to the burning bliss of the solvent he nearly fell forward. Hands stretched forward to brace himself on pure reflex and he locked his joints in a similar reflex. His armor flared further out, allowing the substrates and inner plating to open up as he trembled uncontrollably._

_It felt so good._

_He was warm all the way to the core of his protoform for the first time he could remember and it was a bliss he knew he was already addicted to._

* * *

_Jazz's fans were the loudest thing in his office as he watched his pet slowly sink to his knees in the shower, crackling energy visible deep inside his frame, though not across his plating. Jazz had almost pinged Temperance and stopped the shower when he received the temperature settings his pet had called for, but now he was glad that first sound Stormcloud made had stopped him._

_The Praxian was magnificent in pleasure._

_It did make Jazz wonder, though. Yes, a nice hot shower was pleasurable, it could be intensely so, but to overload doing nothing more than standing under it? As intensely erotic as it was to watch, it wasn't normal. He'd been with enough wing-types to know it wasn't the generally high-sensitivity plating they inevitably sported that caused this reaction._

_As he watched Stormcloud struggle to his pedes and face the primary showerhead once more, Jazz reluctantly pinged Temperance._

_::What's wrong with him?:: her reply was swift and predictable._

_::Did anything in your exam indicate a shower was likely to cause him to overload?:: Jazz asked as he packaged the recording and sent it to her._

_There was a pause as she reviewed the file. ::Not expected, but not unexpected either. The temperature was high, wasn't it?::_

_::377. Why?::_

_::You knew when you brought him in that he was young,:: her tone took on the professional neutrality that warned that she was disturbed by what she was going to say. ::I don't think you picked up that he wasn't a sparked mech. He was kindled, and yes, he's barely three vorns old.:: She paused to allow the implications to sink in for a moment and for her boss to stop sputtering. ::Judging from the spark frequency and size, he was likely either a large Seeker or first generation Seeker-kin. I have no idea how they managed to transfer a sparkling only a few orns old into an adult frame and keep it alive...::_

_::Shockwave,:: Jazz growled darkly. Not even the internal vision of his pet building up to a second overload under the patter and slide of solvent was enough to distract his rage. ::You know he's the only one that would even try.::_

_::Likely,:: she admitted. ::Or why he can't remember anything prior to activating in this frame. However, as his spark matures over the next few hundred vorns the oddities you've noticed will settle out.::_

_::Wait, few hundred?:: Jazz interrupted her._

_::Yes, as I said, his original frame was likely to be a large fighter-bomber class Seeker, or a Seeker-Shuttle mix. A kindled spark of that size will take between three hundred and five hundred vorns to fully mature; comparable to a convoy class grounder.::_

_::Was it a mistake to install interface protocols so soon?:: Jazz felt the fire of desire quenched as he processed what he was hearing and it ran into the bare handful of morals that not even a lifetime in Ops had managed to rid him of._

_::If I thought so, I would have fought you on it and refused to install them,:: she reminded him sharply. ::You know I would.::_

_::True,:: Jazz acquiesced as he began to respond to Stormcloud's pleasure, even if he wasn't sure he wanted to. ::Why?:_

_A deep huff came across the line. ::Three reasons. One: he's already had experience interfacing without them. The sooner he can be trained that not all interfacing is like that, the better off he'll be. Two: He's in an adult frame. He's going to be treated as an adult by anyone who meets him. Without those protocols and all the extra social signals they include, he's going to have a far more difficult time adapting. Three: sparks do not care about age, theirs or anyone else's. A sparked mech comes on line with the protocols and many will interface in their first few orns. Perfectly normal so long as they have the protocols. The only reason kindled mecha don't separate with the protocols installed is because culturally we shelter them and bring them into society very slowly. There is no physical, emotional or intellectual reason they can't have the protocols and associated hardware. We just don't install them until the mechling upgrade out of cultural bias.::_

_::You aren't making me feel better about this,:: Jazz grumbled lowly._

_::I'm not trying to,:: she huffed again. ::I'm giving you the facts. You do with them as you wish. You always do. But I'm telling you. That mech is as mature as the one you thought you brought to me.::_

_Jazz drew in a deep cycle of air and let it out again. ::You've given me a lot to think about,:: he murmured before signing off and turning his attention back to his pet and shoving the entire conversation into a back processor to mull over where he wouldn't have to actively think about it._

* * *

_Jazz watched his pet every moment of the orn, watched him overload the second time in the shower, felt the heat in his systems when Stormcloud shakily pushed himself to his pedes and lowered the temperature by fifteen degrees. Still very warm, but inside the range most mecha would use. He'd watched with a hand on his spike as the Praxian meticulously used every useful tool available to him to clean himself from the tip of his bright red chevron to the bottom of his pedes. Temperance's words soothed the lingering doubts he had about desiring a young spark in an adult frame._

_He watched as his pet dried himself in the air jets and polished himself just as methodically, but now that Jazz's frame was reasonably sated he'd picked up how much smoother Stormcloud's movements were, and yet the motions were not that confident. He knew what to do, but he'd had very little practice at it._

_Then Stormcloud began a meticulous path through the open rooms. He picked up, organized, cleaned ... a self-motivator. That was useful, even if Jazz did not approve of too much apparent order in his personal space. It made things too easy for an intruder to find._

_Three joors before Jazz said he might return, Stormcloud had gotten another cube of energon and retreated to the berth, sipping on it as he practiced using his vocalizer with the computer's assistance. His choice of words and phrases was as telling as his choice of activities. Yes, Master. No, Master. Forgive me, Master. I did not mean to, Master. What would please, Master._

_Jazz slipped into his quarters a full half joor after he said he might be back. His pet needed to understand and accept that Jazz's existence was an unpredictable thing. He buried his irritation at the organizing his pet had done. He was dealing with a young, under-socialized and habitually abused animal that reacted violently when it felt cornered. That Stormcloud had tried to make himself appealing and useful was far, far more important at this stage then whether he had succeeded._

_"Stay," Jazz whistled softly as he walked into the berthroom, preempting Stormcloud's attempt to scramble off the berth and to his pedes. "Good," Jazz trilled, tilting his modulation towards that of close non-trine kin to a young creation among Seekers. He intentionally didn't match it completely, but he could see when the harmonic registered with his pet and made him relax slightly._

_With a warm smile that somehow made Stormcloud try to edge away, Jazz walked to the berth and sprawled on it with apparent ease with the situation. He rolled to his back and looked sideways at his pet, who was still sitting mostly upright and watching him with uneasy expectation. "Have you practiced speaking?"_

_"Yes, Master," came out quickly and flawlessly in ancient Praxian. Only so many changes at one time, Temperance had insisted. Language could be one of the last ones, since Jazz was fluent enough to manage anything needed in the next vorn or so._

_Jazz nodded and carefully extended his field to brush against his pet's plating. He teeked nothing, but he could see Stormcloud fight back a whimper and watched those ice blue optics flash a look at Jazz's pelvic interface panel before finding a place in space to focus on nothing._

_"What made you think that?" Jazz asked, keeping the sharpness from his voice with practiced ease. He couldn't think of what was in his field to draw that reaction. He'd kept it a neutral brush, not at all invasive. As he kept the scowl from his features, he also contemplated how his pet could teek him when he couldn't teek his pet. It wasn't possible, or so he'd long thought. Not without some very expensive hardware that Temperance would have found and noted._

_"Master always expected when he let me teek him," Stormcloud struggled to keep his new voice steady._

_Jazz reached out and gently forced Stormcloud's face up so ice blue optics met black glass visor. "I am not like them." Jazz promised softly but firmly. "Make no mistake, I will make demands of you. You are my pet, my property and duty by order of the Prime." He paused to allow the words to sink in, and not just the ones about Stormcloud's status._

_"Understood?" Jazz asked when it became apparent that Stormcloud was not going to say anything without a direct reason to respond. He wasn't ready for conversation yet._

_"Yes Master," the answer came swiftly._

_Jazz held back a sigh and a concerned twinge. Where was the wild savage from the warehouse? Such behaviors did not go away with some energon, a few kind words and upgrades that hadn't been asked for. It should have taken so much longer to reach this stage. And yet he could not deny he had a compliant, coherent mech here now, one who'd already demonstrated a desire to please._

_"We will get to that, but not soon. Temperance has made it painfully clear that if I try before she clears you, she'll have my interface bits for her display rack," Jazz recounted the threatening tease. Not that he was entirely sure she wouldn't, but it was a line he wasn't inclined to cross anyway. He still wasn't completely convinced that his desires were okay given Stormcloud's age, not when he was in touching range of the mech anyway._

_He shoved all that into a back queue. It wasn't relevant yet._

_Stormcloud didn't get the joke, not even with all the amused harmonics Jazz included, at least if his quickly hidden horrified expression was anything to go by._

_"Right," Jazz allowed his disappointment to flicker across his field and noted the way Stormcloud cringed back without actually pulling away from his hand. He'd been trained well, at least when he was feeling cooperative. Jazz caressed the sensitive metal plates and derma of his pet's cheek with a thumb, enjoying the way the supple metal responded to the light pressure. "What did you enjoy most about your shower?"_

_This time he could teek a tiny hint of surprise against his fingers, then a well-honed wariness, but it was gone as fast as it had come._

_He gave his pet time to find the words he wanted. In this moment, the answer didn't matter so much as how true it was._

_"The heat, Master," Stormcloud spoke very quietly._

_"The heat?" That wasn't what Jazz had expected, yet he had no doubt that he'd been told the unpolished truth. ::Temperance. Is there something I should know about his frame and temperatures regulation?::_

_"Yes Master," Stormcloud murmured._

_::Nothing significant. He'll run cool for another hundred vorns until his spark is large enough to properly supply and heat a frame that size,:: she supplied._

_::Right,:: Jazz grumbled, his processors twisting unhappily with the reminder. His touch gentled even more and he spat a few choice glyphs at creator protocols that were trying to on-line themselves. It took a serious force of will to stop his engine from revving in a confounding mixture of desire and creator approval when his pet leaned into the touch just enough that he felt the movement._

_A decaorn. No touching for arousal for at least a decaorn Jazz reminded himself firmly. Fragging his pet now would easily settle the coding debate chasing itself around in circles in his processors._

_It was going to be a long thirty-one more orns._

_"Are you cold now?" Jazz asked softly, catching himself from leaning in to kiss his lovely pet. It gave him an idea, however. It would be intensely frustrating, but it would at least settle his coding well away from the creator protocols that shouldn't even exist anymore._

_There was a fractional hesitation before Stormcloud murmured. "Yes Master."_

_This time Jazz didn't stop himself as he leaned in and drew his pet's face close to brush their lip components together lightly. It sent a tingling rush through Jazz's systems. He didn't remember what long-extinct organic race had first taught him and a few other explorers about kissing, but he'd never given it up, and now it was a common enough practice among many social circles he wandered through._

_Stormcloud, on the other hand, was openly bewildered._

_"That was the beginnings of a kiss," Jazz told him, using the word from common Cybertronian, before moving to repeat the motion. Again there was no resistance, but also no joining in. "An intimate touch. A touch for pleasure."_

_"Yes Master," Stormcloud whispered, trying not to tremble._

_"What are you afraid of?" Jazz pressed lightly. There were times when violence, pain or fear got you what you wanted, and times when a softer approach was the more effective interrogation technique. So long as his pet was cooperative, slow and gentle was the way to go no matter what Jazz's systems said about it. Or the mental images of this lovely mech bound, covered in fluids and screaming in pleasure, or bound, covered in very different fluids and screaming in pain. Both got his systems racing._

_"That Master will be angry that I will not remember the glyph in the morning," Stormcloud was shaking now._

_"Why will you not remember?" Jazz kept his scowl in check as he rapidly scanned through Temperance's long and detailed report for something on his pet's memory. To not remember a new glyph? That was beyond fragged up._

_"I was coded to prevent me from learning many types of things, Master," Stormcloud barely whispered. "Most physical skills and language in particular."_

_"I will not be angry about things you can not control," Jazz promised firmly even as his fury rose at those who'd do such a thing. "Temperance has it on her list of things to correct. It will just take a while to get to it."_

_Stormcloud cycled his optics, staring at Jazz with such a look of hope-awe-terror that Jazz wanted nothing more than to plug in and fix it himself, wipe the past three vorns clean and start with a fresh memory core._

_But first, there was work to do and he needed Stormcloud's memory files intact for it._

_"There are many ways to get warm," Jazz murmured with another light kiss he was delighted to find returned. "The hot oil pool is very effective," he purred as he drew away, drawing his pet along with him. Stormcloud didn't resist as he was lead into the washrack, past the shower he had such wonderful memories of and to a deep depression containing a sloping ramp, a flat bottom large enough for Stormcloud to lay spread out in and seats carved around the sides._

_As they watched light oil began to pour into the depression, quickly filling it with simmering liquid heat._

_Stormcloud trembled at the very thought of it._

_"Go on, get in," Jazz nudged his pet forward. If the shower was delicious to watch, this was going to be intense. "And don't hide your responses."_

* * *

_"Yes, Master," Prowl responded as he walked down the steep ramp. The first step into the oil, now half filling the pool, drew a full-frame tremble and hitch in his vents. Memories of how good the shower had felt rose to the top of his awareness. He had no glyphs for what it was like, only that bliss seemed inadequate._

_Protocols he didn't understand and didn't want to think about because of the memories they had linked had formed links to suggested how to touch himself to make the feeling increase. They suggested how to touch Master and how Master could touch him. The sound that escaped his vocalizer was as much a whimper of distress at the thoughts as it was a moan of pleasure from the oil reaching halfway up his hips and oozing into his main chassis_

_With difficulty he forced his vocalizer to mute and stepped the rest of the way to the center of the pool where the oil reached halfway up his chest._

_"You don't need to control yourself so much," Master's voice ghosted over his plating and drew his attention to the lithe silver minibot lounging on the sitting shelf, up to his chin in oil and sprawled in a display of command and demand. "I do not punish for enjoying something. You have a lovely voice."_

_"Yes Master," Prowl responded even as he struggled to decide whether Master meant to demand attention or if it was merely his natural posture. The words from earlier, that Temperance forbid such activities and Master seemed to obey her, made the decision. With cautious optics on Master, Prowl took a seat across from him._

_Once more the heat drew tiny whimpers and sounds of pleasure from him unbidden. Now up to his neck in the oil, Prowl trembled in the burning pleasure. His armor loosened, sliding outward to grant more access to the slick, hot slide of pleasure deeper into his systems. It was the only thing in Prowl's awareness. Heat, comfort, the oozing thickness of oil caressing him deep inside with every motion of components, frame or oil flow that kept the pool warm and fresh._

_"So lovely," Master's voice reached him, forcing his optics to turn on, though he didn't remember turning them off. Master was still sitting across from him, watching with avid interest. "Do not let me disturb you," Master added as his hands moved along his own frame. "Enjoy the oil."_

_"Yes Master," Prowl actually moaned the words. His frame was trembling almost as badly as his voice as thin armor fought between remaining locked to protect Prowl and expanding fully to enjoy the oil._

_Enjoyment, and following orders, won out as his optics slowly powered down once more. He sank deeper into the oil, his armor opening up to its full extension, allowing plating and systems deeper inside to shift, drawing in more hot oil and moving it around until every molecule in him was the temperature of his environment and he gradually sank the rest of the way down._


	3. Breaking Barriers

**Chapter 3: Breaking Barriers**

* * *

**Fandom**: Transformers Bayverse-ish AU  
**Author**: gatekat  
**Pairing**: Jazz/Prowl (mostly)  
**Rating**: NC-17  
**Codes**: AU, Slavery, Tactile, Sticky, Noncon, Self Mutilation, Bondage, Violence, Mechpreg, graphic ref to past 'child' sexual abuse ... seriously, if you have a trigger, it's probably in here somewhere.

**Summary**: The young Prime is presented with a slave he doesn't know what to do with. Fortunately he has a long-standing place to put mecha that he doesn't want to think about.  
Written for (tfanonkink .livejournal 11776 dot com html?thread=12048128#t12048128)  
This'll be a long, dark one folks. You've been warned. Jazz ... is not a nice mech behind closed doors.

**Disclaimer**: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal 290 .html) We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.

**Notes**: Prowl is my tri-wing design: alteride .deviantart dot com art/Commission-Resonance-Prowl-254774764  
Teek: to read another's EM field. It can provide information on identity, age, strength, health, emotional and mental state and other factors that influence the spark or energy running the frame. Term originated by (fanfiction u/120188/Dwimordene), though I don't hold strictly to her definition.

This chapter contains graphic, sticky smut. So from here on, chapters will be posted on Ao3 and notices posted here.

Read **Dark Dreamer 3: Breaking Barriers** at (archiveofourown dot org/works/562319/chapters/1009550)


	4. Indulging Jazz

This chapter is posted in its complete state at (archiveofourown dot org/works/562319/chapters/1030934)  
The part posted here is only the first 25%

Nov 16, 2012 - major edits happened to ch 3. Important edits to the world, Jazz, Prowl and story canon.  
New warnings: Torture, Snuff  
Vaevade on LJ has been a wonderful help/co-author of much of the graphic violence. It wouldn't be nearly this intense without her help.  
Question to Readers: does the explanation of why they can't just wipe Prowl's memory make sense?

#Dark Dreamer 4: Indulging Jazz#  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ =================== ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His pet clean and polished, not to mention relaxed, warm and still humming softly from the overload, and himself clean and polished, Jazz quietly let Prowl from his quarters and into the hallway outside. Compliant and subordinate, Prowl padded along after him, optics bright and taking in everything without paying extra attention to anything. A piece of wall got the same attention as a moving, talking mecha. Not even the beauty incarnate in the form of Jazz's top pleasurebot agent got any extra notice, much to Starspark's irritation.

"Relax," Jazz laughed brightly. "He doesn't understand a glyph of common."

"Really?" the elegant creation of white and red with golden highlights and brilliant azure optics regarded Prowl with a little more interest. "Does he understand _any_ language?"

"Yes," Jazz gave a grin and started walking again, Prowl following compliantly along. He had no doubt that his pet was paying attention, but he knew from that trip down memory lane that his pet only barely recognized what was being said as communication. It was no more important to him than a mecha-animal's sounds were to the average mecha.

"Which you are not going to share," Starspark hummed, gave Prowl another long look and continued on his way.

Prowl gave him the attention due not-Master and followed Master to the medical bay. His gaze swept across the space, noting the sub-healer tending to a mecha but gave it no more mind. Master was headed for a door towards the back and Prowl followed.

The door opened smoothly for the pair, allowing them into the private room that was both for intensive care and less serious but higher security issues. Temperance was already there and motioned Prowl to the berth. A glance at Jazz, who nodded, and he complied without a sound.

Jazz relaxed in the corner, watching in silent study as Temperance had the Praxian move joints, tested his strength, reaction time, and finally plugged into him for a processor scan. It was only when she plugged in that Jazz saw a reaction. His pet actually _growled_, though judging from Temperance, he wasn't growling at her so much as the intrusion in general.

Her sharp blue optics lifted to pin Jazz. "I told you no interfacing." She growled darkly in common, leaving the Praxian out of the conversation.

"He needed to _feel_ that it could be a good thing," Jazz countered sharply. "I didn't do much, and I know you saw that. It's a small miracle he's not more damaged than he is."

"I know," she settled with a sad glance at the mech watching them with no apparent care that he didn't understand a glyph of the conversation. "Shockwave did a real number on his design. I can't even begin to understand it. It's not like Sideshot has those kinks."

"She doesn't, but I know a mech who did," Jazz huffed. "Mandate."

She paused, then shuddered. "I think I'm glad he angered the wrong people. He would have never lost a custom slave to raiders."

"No, he wouldn't have," Jazz agreed, leaning back against the wall and regarded his pet. "Why can't we just wipe him clean and start over? There's nothing in there worth keeping."

Temperance grumbled and unplugged from Prowl. "His memory core is exceptional. Absolutely perfect, 100% recording. Better than the Praxian Enforcers use. To wipe him means that has to be removed. It's hardwired to prevent changes."

"That's way too valuable to scrap just to avoid a few memories," Jazz regarded his pet. "I still can't 'face him?"

"Not for the rest of the decaorn," she said firmly. "No energy intensive activities at all."

"So he can watch me work, but not participate."

"He can watch, but no more than four joors at a time," she specified. "He needs to recharge a lot to remain healthy. At least 50% of his time should be in recharge."

Jazz huffed. "I remember. It's going to be a long century."

"Worth it though," Temperance gave a knowing look to her boss. "You saw what he's capable of, how little it affects him. He's worth the work."

"Yes, he is," Jazz agreed and walked up to the berth, cupping Prowl's cheek and drawing him into a kiss that was returned, though it did nothing to rev Prowl's systems. Even so, Prowl leaned into the contact as an approving one, something desirable.

"Jazz," Temperance rumbled in warning.

"It doesn't rev him up, but he likes the approval," Jazz pointed out as he lightly guided Prowl from the berth.

Temperance huffed as they headed for the door. "Just remember to be sure he recharges enough."

"I will," Jazz looked over his shoulder at her. "I take care of my mecha."

"Yes, you do," she murmured, keeping a few opinions on that count to herself. Some arguments were not worth having again, at least not in this setting.

So Prowl followed Jazz as the silver minibot walked deeper into the labyrinth that was the shadow's palace, a place that knew only two kinds of mecha; those that served Jazz, and those who served to entertain him with their deaths. To be fair to Jazz, it had been this way long before he'd been kindled and raised here. The rules and ways weren't strictly his invention, though he'd molded them all to suit himself once he had gained enough power to do so.

Prowl did not yet fully understand the importance of being seen walking compliantly in Jazz's wake, that this walk and many more like it served to imprint on the residents that Prowl was one of them now, not a target that had snuck in. After all, it was a rare thing that a full frame mecha was brought into their number. Adults simply did not adapt to this world, and sparked mecha ... well, there were better uses for them where questions wouldn't be asked about where a given spark had gone.

No one would question Jazz's right to do so however, if he believed it was the best choice for the health of their empire within an empire.

Six levels down and they stepped into an area lit so there was not a shadow to be found in the meticulously clean hallways or on the doors that were designated only with numbers, except for the first one on the left, a small washrack meant for no more than one or two mecha at a time. It was a short hallway with five doors on the right, four on the left, and one at the far end. Prowl took it all in as he did everything else, paying more attention to Master than he did to his surroundings.

"It's time you experienced what we exist to do. We preserve the power of the empire by preserving the power of the Prime, but also by controlling Him, the Senate and other Lords by any means necessary," Jazz began talking as he walked to the third door on the left. It slid open after a longer pause than most. "This pathetic miscreant was plotting against the Prime," he motioned to the non-descript mech without a physical mark on him, but his helm was lolling to one side and his features were blank.

The dark blue mech sitting by the shell-shocked prisoner rose, standing well above the height of both Jazz and Prowl. His dark orange visor flared briefly and locked onto Jazz and is spoke in the highly structured dialect of common most hosts used. "Lord Jazz. Prisoner: stripped of useful intel. Report: will be on Jazz's desk by dawn."

"Good," Jazz smiled brightly at his best interrogator, and his favorite as Soundwave left prisoner's frames completely untouched. "Is there any reason to show mercy?"

"Negative. Prisoner: willful and knowing traitor. Unrepentant."

"Excellent," Jazz rumbled, allowing the darkest of his coding, learned and innate, free of the tight constraints he held it under to function in society. He felt more than saw his master interrogator flinch as the coding coiled upward, enveloping Jazz's consciousness, and how readily Jazz welcomed it. "You may go, Soundwave. Good work."

"Lord Jazz: thank you," Soundwave said before making his exit look less hurried than it was.

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Prowl watched the large blue mech, Master's truth-finder, leave the room. He wasn't sure what it was about the big mech he didn't like, but he Did Not Like him. Master did, however, and that was to be kept in careful consideration. While he hadn't understood the exchange, he recognized the tones easily enough. Master was very pleased. Master's truth-finder was less so, but seemed satisfied.

"Stormcloud," Master demanded his full attention and received it without hesitation. This master was a kind, generous one. A master to be encouraged in his desire to keep him. "The energon dispenser is in the corner. Draw what you need. Recharge when you need to. I wish you to watch my greatest pleasure," he purred, his field flaring slightly to caress the prisoner's as the mech began to come back to awareness of the physical world. "Baring something needing my attention, I draw this out for an orn or more. Understood?"

"Yes, Master," Prowl canted his winds and helm in respectful acceptance of the orders and the information. So Master's greatest pleasure was a long, drawn out kill. It brought new importance to pleasing Master. If Master was angered, he wouldn't pass Prowl on to another. One did not send a gift from the Prime to another. So Master would likely take his pleasure with Prowl's final moments. Prowl already had a reasonable grasp of the amount of pain and suffering that could be inflicted in an orn, and he had no doubt that he was about to have that limit expanded significantly.

His optics never leaving his master, Prowl settled as close as he dared where he could watch Master and keep newly enhanced wing sensors trained on the door. He watched. He listened. He strained his senses to pick up the fields, wanting to feel and teek what he could.

The arousal in Master's field was intoxicating, drawing Prowl to lean forward and open his vents to drawn in every bit of signal the silver mech was emitting. His spark pulsed sharply, calling him towards that enticing teek.

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To read the remaining 75% of this chapter, go to (archiveofourown dot org/works/562319/chapters/1030934)


	5. Linguistic Trauma

starsheild on LJ helped with the interface. Thank you.  
Smut. See Ao3 for full contents.  
archiveofourown dot org/works/562319/chapters/1068371

**Dark Dreamer 5: Linguistic Trauma**  
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Prowl booted up from deep medical stasis, a process that was far more common than he cared to contemplate. He was looking forward to the results of this round up updates. Master said that he was going to have new languages installed, and be able to learn designations. It was an enticing concept despite how much chaos it was likely to cause until he acclimated to the changes.

He on-lined his optics to the familiar room in medical and the familiar features of the chief-healer.

"Can you understand me?" she asked evenly in the common dialect.

There was a moment as Prowl had to route the information through the much more complex linguistic tree he now possessed. "Yes."

"Good," her frame relaxed slightly. "My designation is Temperance. Try to file that in long-term memory."

Prowl focused inward, attaching the designation next to her readings and 'chief-healer'. Then he purposefully purged it from his working memory and attempted to look it up.

"Temperance," he looked up at her with a touch of surprise at just how much it took to file and retrieve that bit of data. "I believe it worked." He spoke slowly, but he spoke in common as it was the language he had been spoken to in. Why that was important he wasn't sure, but it was how the linguistic protocols were set up.

"Excellent," she brightened considerably. "That one's Jazz."

Prowl looked to where she had motioned. "Master," Prowl said.

"Jazz," she corrected him a bit sharply, causing Prowl to flinch.

"Master's designation is Jazz," Prowl phrased it in a way that indicated he had the information but didn't cause him intense anxiety.

"I like him," Jazz grinned back. "And you're Prowl."

Prowl startled, but quickly settled. Why Master chose to call him something was irrelevant. He was Prowl. He belonged to Jazz.

Yes, he could live with that quite well. He could always create a new designation for himself if he felt the need.

"So I can _finally_ get a real taste of him in the berth?" Jazz rumbled, his entire frame radiating excitement.

"Yes, but do not go close to his spark," Temperance locked Jazz down with a glare. "I mean it. Spark play could extinguish him."

Jazz tensed, his visor brightening as the optics behind it dilated. "You're serious."

"Yes," she crossed her arms and stared at him. "Spark play will extinguish him for at least another century. I've got medical locks on his chamber. Don't override them."

"Right. Got it. No spark play. No overriding the medical codes," Jazz shifted his tone, adding in harmonics of absolute willing compliance that almost no one had heard from him.

Temperance relaxed significantly. "He's worth the work. Worth the wait. It's only a couple centuries."

Jazz simply nodded, allowing his frame language and field to speak for him. "Come Prowl."

"Don't forget his recharge needs. Don't push him like you would an agent," she gave a final warning before they left.

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Smut. See Ao3 for full contents.  
archiveofourown dot org/works/562319/chapters/1068371


	6. Testing Patience

Another chapter co-written with vaevade  
Let's see: more no-name snuff, violent BDSM towards Jazz and a very distressed Prowl rather sum up this chapter.  
And it's _long_.

**Dark Dreamer 6: Testing Patience**  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ =================== ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning smut. See Ao3 for contents.

archiveofourown dot org/works/562319/chapters/1068379

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Showered, clean and recharged with Prowl in the same state, Jazz lead Prowl down into the winding depths of the underground, deep into the endless maze of halls and rooms. He'd had just the perfect frame type set aside and he was looking forward to this test. From all indications, Prowl should pass with flying colors, so Jazz was really more curious about originality and technique than anything else.

He stopped in front of a room and palmed the pad to open it. The door slid back and Prowl followed him in, his field too small to read, as usual. Still Jazz could pick up the flare of excitement the moment Prowl had realized where they were going from the mech's sensor wings. That twitching excitement only grew stronger the closer they got to these doors.

In the middle of the room was a fully-repaired green and blue mech, strung-up by his wrists, his thrusters and weapons deactivated, left to hang helplessly. A Seeker, a frame-type with wings that were incredibly sensitive, and when grounded like this one was, vulnerable. On the walls surrounding him were dozens of different instruments, hanging in various categories, ranging from simple blunt tools to incredibly complex devices that did everything from freezing plating to the shattering point to sucking a spark clean out of a frame. Jazz allowed himself a smile, then turned to Prowl. He smiled darkly at the flex of anticipation in those sensor wings and the way ice blue optics locked on the helpless mech.

"Kill him, as slowly and painfully as you can," Jazz purred with a deep, anticipatory rumble of his engine.

"Yes Master," Prowl's plating shivered in an outward expression of just how much he was looking forward to this.

"You will break at least every four joors for energon and recharge," Jazz added belatedly. "No angering Temperance."

"Understood, Master." Prowl nodded, flaring his sensor wings wide in a display of dominance common to all winged frametypes as he stalked forward to circle his prey.

Jazz stepped back, enjoying the way the Seeker's red optics widened and fixed on the Praxian's frame, and leaned against the wall, settling in comfortably to watch. His dark visor glinted as he shifted his optics to watch Prowl circling, sizing up the dangling mech, looking at him from all angles.

Reading his playing field, instead of just diving right in. And, if the way his focus was shifting and changing, looking for vulnerabilities. Promising.

The Seeker dipped his wings down submissively and fearfully in response to Prowl's aggressive flare. He could read power and danger when he saw it. Prowl's optics tracked the motion with sharp interest and the Seeker trilled imploringly to the other winged mech, accompanying the sound by a further tucking in of his wings behind his back, a last-ditch plea for some kind of mercy.

Whether it was for the mercy of a quick death or to totally spare his life was hard to say, and depended on how intelligent he was.

Prowl rumbled in response, the low and aggressive vibration of a grounder. "Master wishes you to end slowly," Prowl leaned in to whisper in the Seeker's audial, but his optics were on Jazz. His hands slid along the tucked wings, a touch light enough to be a caress. "You will scream for us," he tightened the cables and powered up hydraulics in his hands until he felt finely tuned wing-metal cave under his fingers.

The Seeker had whimpered at the light touch, optics moving over to look fearfully at Jazz, correctly assuming that he was "Master," but when Prowl crushed his wing, he screeched and twisted. "B-but!" he cried. "I-I haven't-it was only-"

Pale blue optics flicked to Jazz, watching, _performing_ for the minibot. Prowl's glossa slid along an audial spire at the same time his hands closed a little tighter. "It doesn't matter what you did. Master has condemned you."

The Seeker whined, a high, desperate noise and he made the same trilling noise again, but this time it was definitely a plea for a quick death, trying frantically to appeal to any part of Prowl that might feel sympathy for a mech that, while not quite kin, was still closer than the quicksilver one leaning so casually against the wall.

Prowl chuckled, a sound more from his engine than his vocalizer as his claws finally penetrated the wings, driving his fingers slowly through the thin metal skin, the dense mat of sensory filaments below, through the thin piece of protoform and out the other side until he made a fits through each wing, his claws curled against his palm plates. The Seeker arched and his wings instinctively tried to flare away from the damaging grip, only serving to make the damage worse as he struggled. He cried out again, then moaned as any last hope of mercy drained out of his frame, making him go completely lax in the chains.

His gaze locked on Jazz, Prowl pulled the Seeker back and licked at his throat cables from behind, then bit down hard enough to draw the first dark pink pearl of processed energon. The chemicals hit his sensors and Prowl shuddered into a moan nearly as intense as when he was buried deep in his master.

His victim heard the sound and it made him shudder with more than just pain as he realized exactly how much this mech was going to enjoy his execution. He wailed when that word went through his processor and couldn't keep his fear from spiking. He didn't want to die, but far more, he didn't want to die _like this_, chained up and tormented until his frame couldn't be kept functioning anymore.

"Such lovely wings," Prowl murmured, just loud enough for Jazz to hear clearly over the protesting screech of metal, sensor filaments and protoform as he tested if he had the strength to force his hands along that top wing edge until they came out the tip. "I should have had _real_ wings, like these. My spark is Seeker, kindled for flight, to own the skies. Instead _you_ have them," he hissed, forcing anger he didn't really feel to flare his field outwards and envelope the Seeker's back as he torn through wings with the slow force needed not to hurt himself. "Maybe if I please Master enough, he'll give me wings again."

"Maybe so," Jazz purred, and cocked his head slightly and gave an approving rumble and flash of a grin while the Seeker thrashed and whined. The victim's name was Shard, but Jazz didn't care whether or not Prowl knew that. Some of the agents he'd trained had hesitated in their first execution upon learning a designation, but Prowl quite obviously didn't even care if this mech was completely innocent. Master had ordered, and so Prowl did.

"Then-then we are nearly kin," Shard was saying, forcing the words out past the sharp bursts of static that Prowl's claws were creating. "Mercy, Primus, mercy!"

Prowl paused, a look of concentration on his features for a brief moment before he resumed, turning his fingers sideways so his claws did more of the work in cutting the wings. "He is the one to give mercy, not me."

The Seeker keened in pain as energon seeped from the gouges in his wings, still squirming uselessly. He could feel the minibot's focus on him and shrieked in sudden fury of his fate. "Who are you to condemn me while you enjoy watching my death!" he screeched, kicking uselessly back at Prowl, who barely noticed, too focused on what he was doing.

Jazz only smiled and looked amused. "Seekers," he said. "Plagued by an incessant need to talk." He tilted his helm and looked at Prowl, purring in approval of the way he was focused on his claws tearing through the metal and protoform and his pet's general lack of need to talk. "Lovely, my pet," he praised, watching as Prowl lit up in pleasure at it. It was another reminder that this was going to be one of those few cases where positive reinforcement was going to be much more valuable a tool in training that punishment.

Prowl thrived on praise, and even without spark contact, Jazz had seen enough of his pet's processors to know it was spark-deep.

Slowly those claws tore their way out of the wing-tips, causing Prowl to falter slightly at the sudden lack of resistance, but he recovered quickly and considered the wings of the whimpering Seeker before him. Energon ran down the flat planes in steady streams and Prowl leaned in to run his glossa up the surface, catching one of the trickles. It made his processor hazy with pleasure. With a malicious grin, he grabbed the frame-side edge of one wing in his hands, steadied it, and torn off the section that he's almost cut off. The flier's helm snapped back and his vocalizer released a shocked burst of static with his screech. Prowl dropped the piece in his hand unceremoniously and grabbed the other shaking wing, repeating the action. With his victim crying and thrashing, he caught both shoulder-mounts, slid his hands outward just enough to leave them intact, and drove a clawed finger into the interior of each wing, slicing and scooping out protoform and wires as he pushed further outward.

Shard shook with involuntary spasms and twitches as wire couplings and circuitry were torn away, mewling pitifully. "Not my wings," he sobbed, unable to stop himself, and knowing that pleas were useless here.

Jazz grinned cruelly, thoroughly enjoying watching his pet destroy the very wings he'd been denied.

"You'll never need them again," Prowl hissed with a hard bite to the side of Shard's neck. "Not until your Primus gives them back to you."

Shard whined sharply and still fought to twist his frame away from the Praxian as more of his wing's internals were slowly gutted, whimpering incoherently. Jazz's optics narrowed with interest behind his visor. That was the second time Prowl had acted oddly with Primus's name-the first time, not seeming to recognize it when Shard had cried for mercy, and now, apparently having no knowledge of who he was.

Prowl caught the look, or caught something in his master's shift and stilled for a fraction of a nanoklik before focusing on his prey once more, licking the bite he'd made. "Do you know how lucky you are, that Master gave you to me?" Prowl whispered to Shard, digging his claws in deeper until his finger was a full joint deep inside the wings' shredded top edge.

"_Lucky_?" Shard screeched, even as he desperately tried to fan his wing away from the invasive touch. "Pit-spawned-nng-sadist! Fragging-_aah!_-wingless groundkisser!"

To the side, Jazz made sure to keep his smile and field full of approval, not wanting to give Prowl reason to hesitate, and very curious to hear what his pet's answer to that was going to be.

It was a deep, genuinely angry growl and claws dug in deeper, piercing and tearing metal skin as Prowl tore his hands free and stalked around to grab the Seeker's jaw and pull him close, causing both shoulder joints to twist and screech in objection. "Yes, lucky. Master could keep you alive for vorns if it suited him. I'm not nearly so skilled. An orn, two if I'm lucky."

Jazz privately calculated that it was unlikely to be more than a few joors, but he did give credit to his pet for grasping the gap in their skills and giving a respectable difference. Accuracy of his own abilities and limits would come with experience. This was a good start, inaccurate as it was.

"Master also has tastes that I have not yet learned," Prowl continued when the Seeker balked and whimpered at the promise of _orns_ of this. "I enjoy the pain and flowing energon," he smiled viciously. "Master enjoys your _terror_. Master knows how to twist your programming." He let go with a gentle caress, an effort to mimic what he'd witnessed in previous executions; mixing pain and pleasure, tender and savage. It was exhilarating in a way, though it was not as intense as completely letting go and simply shredding an enemy.

Jazz didn't bother to stop the grin from splitting his face as he watched Prowl trying to mimic his own style. Privately, he suspect that when the Praxian was fully realized, he would still prefer blunt savagery, but it was impressive that he was trying out strategies contrary to his nature, and even, if his face and movements were any indication, enjoying them.

Shard's optics moved wildly between Jazz and Prowl, his wings shaking in protest to the damage they'd taken. He was going to die, right here, there was no way to escape and the two grounders possessed an insanity he could not hope to bend. If the Praxian was to be believed, though, he was fortunate he was not in the hands of the minibot.

Desperately, processor almost crashing as he followed a thought on how to bring on his own termination sooner, he realized that the Praxian definitely seemed more unstable, and that...

He whined again as he realized what he was about to do, and the reaction he hoped to prompt. He gathered his strength and hissed, forcing his wings to rattle. "Filthy grounder," he spat out. "You never deserved to have wings, thank Primus they were taken from you!"

Prowl's wings trembled with sudden indescribable emotion and he lashed out with a primal snarl against the filthy condemned creature who would _dare_ say that to him, racking new combat-grade claws across the Seeker's face. They tore open the thin armor and complex plates, ripping right through the lip components, _daring_ the mech to speak to him like that again. The other hand pierced one optic and shredded through the cheek and down to the neck before both sets of claws then slashed down, tearing into chest plates with no regard to the bulk of the mech's function-sustaining components that rested beneath them, opening the body up to attack.

Shard released a guttural scream and arched his back, sobbing. "Ground-kisser!" he managed to bite out. Jazz straightened, optics brightening and his frame tensing as he watched the Seeker more carefully.

Fury blinded Prowl's senses as he grabbed the Seeker's throat and crushed inward, puncturing outer plating and straining wires, though not using enough strength to kill. He tested his grip, and then with a hard fling that put all his hydraulics and cabling strength to the test, Prowl smashed the Seeker's face to the ground, oblivious to the fact that it only worked because the chains in this room were coded to respond to his desires to move the prisoner. Shard shrieked in shock and pain, fingers reaching wildly out, trying pointlessly to stop the disorienting fall before he groaned hard at the impact.

Following the motion, Prowl coiled onto the Seeker's back, tearing at wings indiscriminately, ripping into the plating as deeply as he could and tattering every flat plain in sight, flinging energon and metal and wire back. The heated smell of spilled energon made him growl and shred with a wonderfully familiar ferocity, and it caused _such_ wonderful screams to spill from the vocalizer of the insolent, insulting Seeker.

Jazz watched carefully, a little annoyed that a chatty Seeker had managed to provoke such an obvious reaction, but reminded himself that no matter how much raw talent Prowl possessed, it was still barely refined. Ignoring obvious taunts was something that could be learned. Still, if it weren't for the fact that Prowl was doing such an excellent job of torturing the Seeker on his own even now, Jazz would have liked to step in himself to punish him. But he stayed where he was, observing every bit of damage that Prowl inflicted.

Finally, there was nothing left of the once-proud Seeker's wings but tattered scraps flung about the room. Shard had been reduced to a quivering, incoherently moaning mess beneath the now energon-coated Prowl. The Praxian snarled when he realized there was nothing more of the wings to destroy, looked his victim up and down, and sank his claws deep into the Seeker's back. He _pulled_, tearing the bulk of the plating off in a single, violent movement that made Shard spasm and scream, arching up with a violent, agonized shudder. Prowl raised a hand, set to strike, pale optics wild and nearly white in killing-lust.

That was enough, Jazz decided. He took one step forward. "Prowl. Still."

The Praxian snarled, a sound directed more at the mech beneath him and frustration in general than his master, but he stilled. His entire frame trembled, his sensor wings wide, their three fingers, normally seamlessly locked together, flared wide and flickering lightly with a charge that danced between them. Prowl tore his gaze away from his kill and locked onto his master with difficulty, using his wings' passive sensors more than his optics to locate the smaller mech. The snarl was still on his features, his plating flaring in and out in an effort to vent, but not one of his struts so much as quivered.

"Time for a break," Jazz said firmly, stepping over and caressing Prowl's helm. The moment he touched, he caught hints of the emotions in his pet's field and realized that the anger, or at least the display, wasn't what he thought it was. Yes, it was a killing rage, but the rage was directed inward, turned on the Seeker for some other reason. Yet also in that touch, and the way Prowl leaned into it, submissive and content with a quickly cooling temper, told him something even more important.

Even in a full killing rage, his pet was his to command and happy to be at his side. A snarl meant nothing when the frame froze on command and the field expressed such desire for his master's nearness.

It was a priceless piece of knowledge, a foundation of a lifetime of training, and reason enough to purr. As Prowl all but melted into the contact and sank to his knees against his master, Jazz pulled the chevron helm in to rest against his front while he stroked. "You are doing very well. You must remember to make him linger."

"Yes, Master," Prowl murmured, his optics dimming in contentment but well aware that it was a correction. "I will do better."

"I have no doubt," Jazz smiled with a touch of softness in his field. It was true as well, and Jazz knew it was not because Prowl feared, but because Prowl desired to please _him_. It was a delicious thing to feel and know.

With a thought back to what he first felt in Prowl's field, he slid a thick connector cable from his lower chassis and quickly patched himself into one of the data cables in Prowl's neck. While Prowl's firewalls were now far stronger than when he arrived, upgraded by both Temperance and Jazz, they dropped all the way down to Prowl's core code the moment Jazz was recognized.

He'd have to work on that a bit before turning Prowl loose in the real world, but for now it was a good thing. He glided into active memory and tracked back to when the Seeker first insulted Prowl. There, a flash of anger that Prowl found as confusing as he did exhilarating. The slash across Shard's face had been in retaliation, but Prowl wasn't enraged yet. He was barely angry, and even as he struck there was a detachment from his emotions and the social protocols that linked the form before him with a person, or even an animal.

Then the rage flared, hot and blinding, but it was a rage at himself, at lashing out, and suddenly the disconnect from his social protocols, protocols that handled most emotional input, were a determent. When the rage flared, there was nothing to keep it in check and Prowl directed the rage at self towards the most appropriate target: the one who caused it.

With a thought, Jazz shifted to his pet's real-time thoughts and pointed his face towards the remains of the Seeker.

_Food/provide/pleasure/energon/food/excitement/provide/kill/energon/food/provide..._

Jazz hummed to himself and tucked that information away as interesting. More than anything, when Prowl looked at the mech on the floor, he saw a source of energon. He certainly wasn't seeing a sentient being, or even a _living_ being, not on his most instinctive levels. Pleased with that, if not with the tendency to savage a bit too quickly that it created, Jazz disconnected and looking down at the quivering wreck of a Seeker.

Without wings, Shard looked much smaller than before, and his back was soaked with energon that continued to seep out of Prowl's gouges. He nudged the heap with his pede, unable to help his grin when the flier whimpered at the movement, before looking back at Prowl, turning his pet's face up towards him. "He will need repairs," he said. "I will call Temperance while you rest, and then give you one more chance." He saw Prowl's eager look at being given a second opportunity to prove himself. His gaze shifted up towards the tools on the walls and he clicked thoughtfully. "And perhaps some instruction, as well."

"Yes, Master," Prowl purred and nuzzled him affectionately.

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Two joors of instruction in the various tools of the trade displayed in the room, a quick shower to clean up, and a three joor nap for Prowl while Jazz went to his office to work on the more boring details of his duties to pass the time while Shard was repaired. When Temperance pinged him, Jazz was delighted to return to more enjoyable duties.

He commed Prowl to meet him outside the torture room and was pleased, though hardly surprised, to find him waiting when he arrived. Prowl had a shorter distance to travel, but it also meant he knew his way around, and the last metacycle trailing after Jazz had done its job of telling the other residents that Prowl belonged among them. Prowl would no longer need a chaperone to move about unmolested. All in all, a very pleasing result.

::Mind if I watch?:: Whiplash's comm was an actual _purr_. A sound the black mech almost never made.

:Sure,: Jazz pinged back. He wasn't about to deny his second such a request. The mech hardly ever showed interest in torture, his specialty being assassination, so it was more likely an interest in Prowl, or Prowl's reactions. Both things that he needed to understand in order to perform his function as Jazz's SIC.

As he set up the video feed and sent it Whiplash's way, Jazz palmed the door and let Prowl follow him in. Shard was strung back up as he had been before Prowl had torn him down from the ceiling, looking pitiful without his wings. Temperance's no-nonsense work was evident: clean, simple, and efficient. She hadn't wasted any time with the aesthetics; it wasn't worth her time to make a condemned mech look nice, but the Seeker was no longer bleeding and the worst of the gouges were welded back together.

::What's that one in for?:: Whiplash asked.

In response, Jazz sent over a packet full of images of mutilated younglings. Whiplash growled.

::I thought he was a fitting victim for Prowl.::

::I'd say so.::

Shard looked up at their entrance and moaned, letting his head fall again. Jazz chuckled. "I think he remembers you, pet." He turned towards Prowl. "I am giving you a second chance. Kill him and make him linger. Anything in this room is at your disposal."

"Yes Master," Prowl purred, eager for the second chance and to please his master. "I will use your instruction well," he promised as he stepped up to the selection of implements on the wall. He now knew some of the finer points of how to use some of them, but there was one that drew him to it as a first stage implement. Not just because of how much his master enjoyed showing him the use, but the way it felt in his hand.

Blades and shock sticks would come later. For now, Prowl picked up the heavy whip with small razors imbedded here and there and unfurled it with a crack as he turned to face his prey. He like the heavy feel in his hand, the way it conveyed power along the supple length, the sound and _hurt_ it could cause with such a small motion.

But, oh, what really turned him on was the way his master could manipulate it. He would be vorns perfecting that skill, but if Master allowed him, he was eager to put in the time and effort.

Jazz felt Whiplash's attention go sharp and intense and he smirked knowingly as he watched Prowl feeling out the weight and balance of his chosen weapon. "Excellent choice," he praised, circling around the outside of the room to stand at a better angle before Prowl began. He chuckled darkly at the way Shard's optics went wide with terror.

"While you were repaired over that little incident," Prowl said matter-of-factly even as he purred at his master's praise. "Master taught me a few things to try out."

A snap of Prowl's wrist and the whip grazed across Shard's cockpit. Shard gave a short yelp and only barely reacted, the hit not really striking deep enough to hurt.

By Jazz's standards, the strike was completely clumsy and amateurish, but if he relaxed his standards - by quite a lot - it wasn't terrible for a first go. "Good," he said, always keeping in mind that this mech responded to praise far better than pain or criticism. "Firm grip, quick strike. Try again."

The instructions flowed over Prowl, cataloged, assessed and absorbed in the time it took him to reset. The next lash was as Whiplash walked in and created a fine web of cracks along the cockpit's centerline.

The deep rumble of approval from Whiplash was noted, as was his presence, but Prowl gave the mech no further attention as he shifted his grip slightly and cracked the whip along Shard's side, leading a long, jagged gash where one of the claws bit into his armor and tore through the flier's plating as Prowl pulled the weapon back with a snap of his wrist. It made Shard squirm and release a short, sharp cry. The first, faint tang of processed energon leaked into the air around them.

Jazz nodded in approval when Prowl looked to him briefly, automatically, before shifting his optics over to Whiplash with a slight inclination of his head in welcome, and a knowing smile. His SIC was focused on the weapon, and the way Prowl's frame put it to use. Though Jazz couldn't feel it across the room, he knew Whiplash well enough to know the mech was excited. Whips were not that common a weapon to favor and never had been.

The next strike was a display of precision on Prowl's part, a test to see if he could land the strike in the same place twice. While he was off by half a finger width, it was good for his first try and Whiplash's field caressed him with approval.

Jazz was pleased to note that, while he did not reject it, Prowl was not nearly as interested in Whiplash's positive reaction as his. He sent out his own caress and Prowl's engines turned over with pleasure while he made fine adjustments and readied himself for the next hit.

::You've done very well bonding him to you,:: Whiplash chuckled across a private comm channel with a smile for his boss.

Jazz watched the strike, this one even closer to the mark though still not exact. Prowl pulled away, taking more plating with him, and while he was resetting, making subtle changes to his stance, Jazz let his optics shift up to his Second. With Whiplash standing right there, he couldn't keep from imagining himself as the one hanging from the chains.

Whiplash noticed the change in the internal video feed he was still receiving and lifted his own optics, giving Jazz a very knowing smirk, one full of promise. Jazz's engines kicked to life and purred in growing excitement as he refocused on Prowl.

Perhaps the next lesson would be to watch how Whiplash handled a masochistic lover, offering up the kind of non-damaging pain that was also rarely favored in their ranks. Prowl's reactions to seeing his master bound and hurt, all while enjoying it, would be telling of so many things.

By the fourth strike Prowl had his repeat-aim down and could land a blow on top of a previous one smoothly, tearing at fine wires once the plating was gone, making Shard shriek when the sensitive internals were hooked and ripped out.

The Seeker was whimpering steadily by now, terrified under the intense gazes of Jazz and Whiplash, and completely vulnerable to the mech he had decided to be an utter savage. There had been no way for him to not feel Prowl's enjoyment at ripping apart his wings, the hunger when his back had been torn away. Shard wanted to spit curses at the quicksilver minibot for saving him when he had. Another strike curled around his body and he arched, releasing a shrill cry of pain, followed by a choked sob as jagged edges sank into his armor and shredded it when the lash was ripped away.

"You knew it was not a tolerated behavior when you abused those younglings," Jazz said casually, his optics sharp behind his visor as he watched his pet sink into the hurting and started to show real enjoyment at it. Shard's frame was quickly being covered in relatively shallow but razor thin wounds as Prowl figured out how to snap his wrist to cause the whip to twist around his body and really dig in before yanking away. He was currently trying to figure out how to best pull back, experimenting with different angles that created varied patterns in the armor. Yes, there was definite enjoyment on his face, though it was far more subtle than either Jazz or Whiplash's, and nothing compared to the enjoyment that came from using his claws. Shard screeched deliciously at one particularly vicious wrap. "This has been the penalty for as long as I have commanded SpecOps, and deactivation the penalty long before I took command," Jazz added. "Even if I do usually take the pleasure of the kill for myself."

Shard's optics shifted with difficulty over to Jazz and he hissed even as his frame shook in pain. "Lucky me," he spat.

"Very lucky you," Jazz agreed, taking slow, sideways steps to get a better angle as Prowl moved around the writhing Seeker, trying new approaches and techniques with a simple, honest curiosity. There was absolutely no recognition of Shard as another sentient being. No, the mech was just an animated puzzle, a _thing_, to be observed for responses and how best to extract the desired ones.

::What a gift Prime gave you in this one,:: Whiplash nearly moaned as he watched, optics locked on the movement of whip and the hand guiding it. ::Does he learn best this way, with such minimal guidance?::

::Yes,:: Jazz said. ::If he makes a mistake, I only need to correct it once, and he knows that taking initiative pleases me.::

::What a gift,:: the black minibot shivered with a flicker of charge dancing across his plating as the whip continued to dance. There was a sudden hard snap that shattered one optic, and then Prowl carefully looped the whip in a precise copy of what it looked like when he had retrieved it.

While Shard screamed and thrashed, his vocalizations no longer words, much less full glyphs, Prowl set the whip in its place on the wall and ran his optics over the other options. He felt reasonably confident with the whip now. It was time to try something new and learn it. His optics swept along the wall again, drawn back to a device so simple he'd been confused by its presence at first. Then Master had shown him the switch and tapped Prowl's arm in demonstration.

That he'd screamed and dropped to the ground to curl up, protecting his spark and helm, had been more out of reflex to the shock than reacting to the pain. The jolt of a charge the shock baton gave was nasty, but far from fatal unless it was directly inside the spark chamber, and maybe not even then, if the spark was strong enough. He glanced over his shoulder at his trembling, bleeding, whimpering prey and back at the shock baton. The glance at Master was a look not for approval, but in calculating, and a tiny smile crossed Prowl's features as he looked at the shock baton again and picked it up.

With a flick of his finger the device crackled to life, the striking portion alive with loose electricity.

"Master, does it have the virus to force him to feel pleasure installed?" Prowl glanced at Jazz with the most innocent expression.

"No," Jazz flicked his armor in a negative and paid careful attention to his pet, trying to read what was coming.

And a lot more smut over on Ao3.

archiveofourown dot org/works/562319/chapters/1068379


	7. Cultural Lessons

Chapter co-written with starsheild and vaevade  
Jazz/Optimus Prime  
Jazz/Whiplash/Prowl ... with Whiplash under the whip.  
Heavy consensual sexual and torture violence.

Another chapter with graphic smut. See my Ao3 account for the full version.

archiveofourown dot org/works/562319/chapters/1101040

**Dark Dreamer 7: Cultural Lessons**  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ =================== ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Whiplash left, he did so knowing his leader still had a lot on his processors and a few things to sort out with Prowl over the previous evening. The silver mech wasn't alone in needing to think about what had happened and how. They both had far too much experience to make such a rookie mistake, and yet they both had. No matter how well he tried to hide it, Prowl couldn't completely conceal his uneasiness with having both Whiplash and Jazz in the same room with him. It was the primary reason Jazz had shooed Whiplash away. Playful in appearance it may have been, both minibots knew it was because Prowl had all but panicked when he saw them kiss over his frame.

Now Jazz lay sprawled on top of his pet, taking in how quickly Prowl settled with Whiplash out of the room.

"You liked Whiplash before," Jazz prodded lightly, his tone mildly curious. Though it was an effort, he kept his displeasure from showing for the moment. He wanted answers, not code-reworking compliance right now. The root cause needed to be addressed, or at least understood, before it could cause greater problems. Having an agent distressed at having Jazz and his Second in the same room was a serious issue on so many levels.

"I still like him, Master," Prowl murmured, distinctly uncomfortable with the subject. He knew his master was not pleased.

"But," Jazz prompted, his tone just a fraction harder but his field still calmly curious.

Prowl dropped his optics, submission pushing through a flared field despite the difficulty in pushing his spark energy so far. "He _hurt_ you," his voice quivered, a faint tremor that expanded to his frame. "He made me hurt you," Prowl nearly keened despite his best efforts not to.

A resigned sigh flowed from Jazz's vents. "That I wanted him to, that I enjoy it; none of that matters, does it?"

A low, plaintive whimper was all Prowl could manage for a lingering moment. His wings trembled against the berth's plush softness before he briefly glanced up to meet his master's visor. "Master ... I'm working on it," he promised, pleading for time. "Hurting Master goes against very deep coding. It is not an easy edit."

Jazz's fingers lightly stroked Prowl's chest. "How deep?"

That flicker of stillness across Prowl's features had been one of his pet's most difficult tells for Jazz to decipher, but he'd managed. With a soothing trill Jazz slid a cable from his wrist and plugged into the quickly offered port at the base of Prowl's neck. He was welcomed in with the same mixture of self-hate/pain and frustration directed in equal measures towards himself and Prowl that had been in Prowl's field, yet there was also a definite sense that he is _welcome_ to be in his pet's processors.

Prowl awkwardly nudged Jazz's awareness away from core processors, and even the secondary ones. The entirety of Prowl's consciousness was skipped, though it showed clear signs of recent half-complete renovations of a rather dramatic extent. Jazz paused as he recognized the beginnings of a primitive full personality partition. The kind of construct that in a far more effective form was used for deep cover missions.

Prowl waited until Jazz had finished looking with a native patience that just didn't feel quite as natural as it should if it was truly native. Jazz didn't prod at that just yet, and followed Prowl's markers with a growing certainty of where he was going. As young and simple as Prowl's programming was, there was only one small but immensity powerful set of codes that wouldn't be in his primary processors.

Spark coding.

With a nudge from Prowl, the ancient and primitive glyphs unfurled for Jazz. Simple, clean and so very painfully unable to cope with what Jazz wanted.

_Serve._  
_Protect._  
_Know._

Each glyph was so simple as to be all but unrecognizable to its modern counterpart. Inscribed into the spark chamber by the spark itself, they were the immutable foundation of everything that spark could become, and what would destroy it beyond any ability to recover.

Whether Prowl recognized the power he was giving Jazz in this knowledge the minibot didn't know. He wasn't even sure he wanted to know. Yet in the glyphs themselves he could read the truth.

Yes, Prowl knew exactly what he was offering.

He offered it not out of ignorance of its value, but out of the drive the glyphs themselves spoke of.

To serve Master.  
To protect Master.  
To know _everything_.

Every line of coding installed or written, every memory and choice would eventually be filtered through the foundation of those three glyphs. Even if Prowl was completely wiped, new memory core and even a new frame, he would develop along similar lines even in significantly different situations.

To force any mecha to fulfill one of those spark-codes at the direct expense of another was inviting disaster.

Yet as he watched the glyphs shimmer before his virtual optics, strong and potent as the spark that coded them, Jazz couldn't help his own nature. Though he has no intention of sharing his spark coding with anyone not capable of tearing it from him, he knows himself. He knows what is engraved in the very matrix of his spark chamber.

He shields all thoughts of it carefully as he backs out of this intimacy and towards the upper levels where Prowl's awareness is waiting for him.

~What is the partition for?~ Jazz asked, though he's fairly sure he knows.

~A holding place for the protocols, memories and thoughts needed to hurt you,~ Prowl answered without hesitation. ~They can not exist freely in my processors for long before causing problems.~

Jazz caressed his pet's processors, expressing a very real awe at the loyalty he had stumbled into and respect at what he'd been willingly given. ~I will help you build it,~ he said softly, nuzzling against Prowl's awareness. ~But for now, remember this. Until Temperance says otherwise, until your spark is fully matured, you will not be asked to hurt me or watch me being hurt for my pleasure. It is your explicit right to stop it.~

He watched, utterly fascinated, as Prowl almost stalled. Processors went blank in a near-freeze that was embedded thickly with _shock-disbelief-relief_ and a much smaller sensation worming through it: uncertainty. It wasn't quite distrust, but it told Jazz all he needed to know of how well promises to Prowl were typically kept. How Prowl knew what had been promised when he had no memories that contained language Jazz was less sure, but the resulting sensation was unmistakable.

~I can stop it?~ Prowl repeated, somewhere between a question and statement with intense hope fluttering behind it.

~Until Temperance says your spark is mature, yes, you may stop it,~ Jazz repeated even as he pinged Whiplash with the agreement.

Surprise came back from his Second, but no argument. Jazz had little doubt that Whiplash was relieved for the order. Prowl's reaction towards him had not been what the black mech wanted for the first morning after. Whiplash didn't have nearly Jazz's taste for pain in either position, though like every good agent he'd made good friends with it. Jazz still knew that if he never had to cause or suffer pain again, if he was only asked to perform the quite, silent kills that were his specialty, Whiplash would be pleased by it. The black mech also had a preference for _lovers_, those that wanted another round upon waking up with him after their first encounter.

Prowl had most definitely not wanted another round. Jazz had no doubt that Prowl would have bolted from the room if they hadn't be leaning over him at the time. It didn't matter that it would have been an interface devoid of bondage or pain and it showed in the Praxian's frame when he registered arousal in the pair.

Jazz continued to watch as the permission order sank in and propagated through Prowl's processors, creating thousands of small changes and a few significant ones in the reaction tree Prowl maintained. It was a look at how his pet thought that fascinated Jazz. He'd watched many bots think before, some that were decidedly odd, but he had yet to watch a logic and response tree that was quite so devoid of the clearly selfish aspects. The closest Prowl seemed to come was his reaction to research, but even that was very muted when doing it for its own sake.

Emotional pleasure, for Prowl, was too tied up in the needs and desires of others for Jazz's long-term comfort. It made him an excellent slave, and excellent low-ranking subordinate, but it made him all but useless as an officer or agent without a tremendous amount of work. It was work Jazz would do, even if he didn't like it.

~Master, please help me build a good partition now?~ Prowl struggled with the request for himself. Behind the words was the terrible distress and spark-code conflicts the memories of the previous night had caused him.

Jazz smiled and caressed his processors and frame with affectionate support. ~Yes. I have nowhere more important to be.~

Deep inside Prowl's processors, multiple levels of tension smoothed. He opened himself up even more and have himself fully to watching and assisting his master build the strong partition to keep him from breaking at fulfilling one spark code against another.

SxSxSxSxSxSxSxSx S===================S SxSxSxSxSxSxSxS

Prowl stood in a room he was entirely too familiar with. A place he hated and adored in equal measure.

Hated because it meant he was alone. His master was elsewhere, sometimes for more than an orn, and no one else was going to keep him company, or even keep an optic on him. He knew it was a sign of trust, but he couldn't shake the sensation of being abandoned that came with it, the subtle panic he couldn't suppress that his beloved, wonderful master would never return and he would be given to someone else. Again.

This place was adored because this was what Master referred to as a tactical room. Prowl only knew that it was full of the most incredible holo-displays that would bring to wonderful visual detail any information he wanted. There were ports where he could plug into for direct downloads.

He couldn't even begin to wrap his processors around the scope of the information Master had presented him with, but he could give his full dedication to learning each and every detail of whatever Master had listed for the orn. The schedule had been plotted out a metacycle in advance, though it was constantly being modified based on how much Prowl learned and what questions he asked Master at the end of the orn when their frames were sated.

The schedule was what he was expected to learn, but Master had made it very clear that once Prowl had that committed to memory he was free to look up anything else that he wished to. So far he had backed off any time that he encountered a firewall he wasn't authorized to pass, though he was dimly aware that at some point Master expected him to try and get through without the correct password. It made him uncomfortable for reasons he could not articulate, so he did not even try. He determined to face that challenge when it was required of him.

Until then, he would explore what he had easy access to.

The lesson this orn: frametype classes.

Settling in, relaxing his frame and locking his lower joints, Prowl called up the first series of image and datafiles: airframes.

The first subsidiary menu came up, asking which of the nine size categories he wished to learn about first. Prowl hummed with a pleasure he had no designation for and didn't care to worry about. Except for Master's absence, delving into the endless torrents of data was a bliss like no other. Not even the best overload he'd experienced came close to how _good_ it felt to submerge himself in the data streams and give himself over to their expansiveness.

He was completely unaware of just how many individuals were watching him in one way or another.

SxSxSxSxSxSxSxSx S===================S SxSxSxSxSxSxSxS

Several levels and a world away Jazz was walking through the halls of the Prime's palace, cheerfully greeting nobles, warriors, servants and slaves alike, noting changes, new scuffs, new finishes or adornments. Sometimes out loud, mostly to himself. Yet much of his processing power was devoted to watching his pet and what he pet was looking up. He was no longer concerned that Prowl might not do what he'd been told to, or that he might find something that he shouldn't. These orns he watched because it was very enjoyable to see his pet so happy, to feel, even filtered through half a dozen systems, what the unusual mech felt when immersed in the dataflow. Prowl would be an outstanding monitor and data miner, possibly even before he was old enough to have specialized upgrades for it. He had the personality basics already, and the spark code glyph that was most critical for the function. Any mech with _Know_ branded on their spark casing would excel in any function that involved huge amounts of data. They also tended to do well in any function that found hidden information.

He'd barely settled down in his office when he received a summons from the Prime. Or more accurately, an invitation to the Prime's hot oil bath.

A playful grin crossed Jazz's features as he shut down the systems that had just come on line for him. An invitation from the Prime was not to be ignored, but this was far more than a simple invitation. As much as the Lord High Protector despised it, the young Prime liked to indulge in the company of others, especially one minibot whom Megatron could not control and didn't care about the Prime's age or status.

He strolled from the lift into the foyer of the Prime's apartment, a gorgeous five levels tall by a convey class height and wide open from here, into the grand entry hall and out across Iacon's bright skyline through windows two levels tall. If he'd been a less common visitor there would no doubt be someone there to meet him, if not the Prime himself. But Jazz was a common sight here and knew his way around. He was allowed to move where he pleased and soon reached the top level where the Prime's berth chamber and huge, lavish washrack.

Jazz whistled his arrival, a cheerful, playful sound to greet the large, lightly armored Prime as he walked into the washrack where the highest High Priest was relaxing in simmering hot oil and looking out over the beauty of the capitol city.

The small smile on the young Prime's face was genuine, welcoming the mech that would have obeyed his summons no matter what, but that Optimus also knew enjoyed these summons as much as the Prime did when he was in this sort of mood.

"Join me." He waved to the oil and to where Jazz's preferred refreshments were arranged, the words more invitation than order as his attention switched from the outside view to studying the motion and frame of his newly arrived company.

"Anytime," Jazz grinned and made an easy, smooth dive into the deep oil, his passage barely rippling the surface with his passing. He sank to the bottom and strolled to the tiered bench that had a spot next to the Prime that was shallow enough for him to relax with his helm out of the oil. "Just wanting company, or is there a chat before the fun?"

"A little bit of a chat." The large red mech rumbled, shifting so that he was facing the silver minibot more. His relaxed field set the tone for his words, indicating clearly that it was mere curiosity driving his questions and nothing more. "I have been wondering about that new pet project of yours, and how it was coming along."

Jazz didn't have to fake any level of his pleased smile or field. "He has a lot of maturing to do and a couple serious faults, but what I've dealt with so far indicates he'll be amazing when he's trained. He's not a native curiosity and ability to process a huge dataflow that's just incredible. He loves it too. He's down in one of the unused tactical rooms now if you want a feel for him when he's reasonably calm and content."

White optics lit in momentary surprise at the report, far different from what he had expected when he had heard the initial report on the Praxian. Jazz's obviously pleasure with his new acquisition prompted Optimus to do just that, accessing the mainframe that allowed him to know what was going on in his immediate domain and feeling for the Praxian buried in the tactical room.

Jazz was there in an instant to give him the address and made sure the system allowed the Prime in without complaint. When Optimus settled in to listen and feel the Praxian from the safely shielded distance, he had a hard time believing it was the same individual.

"This is the mecha that almost killed two of Ironhide's soldiers?" Optimus Prime murmured as the smooth flow of the mind mingled with an emotional pleasure that saturated the simple act of learning.

"Yap," Jazz chirped with a grin. "It's kinda amazing what he turned into once he realized that everything moving wasn't trying to hurt him."

"A shame that such a spark was so underutilized." Optimus said as he continued to watch, seeing all that Jazz had said about the mech to be true. "A situation that I am sure you are fixing as we speak." He added, not pushing to find out exactly what Jazz had planned for the vast potential he could feel on so many levels in Prowl.

"Yes," Jazz responded to it all with a flicker of affection in his field. "He is learning, both what I set him to and anything else that catches his attention once he's done. He'll never be a leader, but he can command in the right situation. Loyal as anything too. He'll be truly amazing when his spark matures fully."

"A mech whose loyalty you will need to keep then." Optimus observed as he withdrew from the feed and focused once more on Jazz. "How young is he? Were you able to find out more about his background?"

"A fair amount, though admittedly what I know make it all the more confusing," Jazz admitted, relaxed as he snacked on a confection. "He's a little over three vorns old, sparked, and then transferred from his original frame into that one. Temperance believes he was originally to be a very large bomber-class Seeker, or a mid-sized shuttle. Either way, right now his spark is barely large enough to support the frame he has, but give him a couple centuries and he'll have the extra spark power to handle some very serious upgrades. We know who built that frame, Shockwave, but not who acquired sparkling he came from, how it was acquired, or exactly why. We know he had regular interfacing with several previous owners, though we don't know if any of them were aware he did not have the protocols for it yet."

"Or if they cared." Optimus rumbled, that little bit of news darkening his pleasure at the progress the Praxian had been making. "I trust that you are also on alert for more of his kind, now that we have some idea of what to look for?"

This sort of thing troubled the young Prime on several levels, one even a distinct discomfort from the Matrix itself, something that Optimus did not always understand and tried to remedy as soon as possible.

"Even more than usual," Jazz rumbled in reply, relieved more than he cared to admit that this Prime was just as disturbed by the fact as he was. "Stopping that sparkling abuse is one of my pet projects. I've made good progress by all accounts. Keeping a sensor out for others like Prowl ... that's what I call him ... is easier. There aren't a half dozen beings in the entire empire capable of attempting such a transfer and at least two of them would _never_ do so without officially recording it. Temperance is mine and I trust her. Shockwave and Firewire are the only ones I can't really touch who might try."

"So there is no way to punish him for this?" Though the question was soft, there was no way to miss the outrage that underscored it, and the slow building fury in Optimus at the idea.

Jazz sighed out his vents. "Unless I can prove who Prowl used to be, and convince his creators to testify that he was stolen, and that Shockwave didn't know that whoever paid for the transfer didn't have the right to do so, there really isn't anything in the laws against it. Right now, the most Shockwave could be charged with is failure to file the procedure. It's a fine, and not even that big a fine for him. The mech I'm almost certain paid for it was one I dealt with three vorns ago for sparkling interface abuse. I didn't know about this at the time. In all likelihood I picked him up after the transfer but before Prowl was delivered to him, leaving Shockwave to sell him to someone else. Really, the worst I can do to Shockwave is inform the first customer who bought Prowl that he didn't have interface protocols. I know her and it did not go over well when she found out that she'd been 'facing a sparkling in an adult frame. But that one's a civilian matter over misinformation on the status of goods sold, assuming she takes it to court. It's not really her style."

The fury died down to a simmer, Optimus offering a matching sigh as he sank deeper in the oil, optics going dim as he contemplated what Jazz had just told him. He was familiar enough with Shockwave to know that Jazz was right, and there was no evidence that could be found to use against the mech that would be of any value. Finally he shoved it to the back of his processor, to be worried over later, perhaps, and focused on something else that Jazz had said.

"Who are the other mecha capable of doing this, and are they being monitored?"

"Ratchet, who works at the Primus' Gift Medical Center here in Iacon," Jazz relaxed as the Prime did. "He has the skills, though I'm not worried that he might try. Mech has a code of honor backed up by a scary as the pit temper and enough contacts to keep even me at bay. The other is one of your High Priests, Soundwave. As a host he may have the skills, I'm sure he has the capacity, but there just isn't any motivation there that I can find and even I have a hard time with the idea that he'd do so without recording it. Both of them might perform the normal variation to safe a life, but the odds that they'd do so for anything like this is just ... infinitesimal. I'm watching them, and the up and coming medics, scientists and hosts. It's a very rare combination of skills to even try such a procedure. I think that's why there really aren't laws against it."

"Something that will have to be looked into, sooner rather than later." Optimus said with another sigh as his attention refocused on Jazz. "So tell me more of Prowl's progress. Was the designation his, or your idea?"

"Technically mine, but it's his own," Jazz chuckled. "I called him Stormcloud for a while. After digging around in his processors I found out he'd lied about not having an internal designation for himself, so when an opportunity came up to call him something new, I went with what he thought of himself as. He's amazingly adaptable. Probably the two most important things to know about handling Prowl are that he responds in a similar way to how he'd approached and he's a spark-coded beta. If you're violent, he is back. Which is what happened when we found him. The slavers used violence to try and control him so that's what he replied with. The soldiers used force to subdue him, and he fought back. He calmed down when I spoke to him because I was being calm. Though I'm sure that actually understanding the meaning of the sounds I made helped too," he gave a grin. "Basically, he's one of those that responds best to approval. I don't have to be harsh to get him to comply. He _wants_ to make his master happy, and it's on a spark-code level. Even as a free mech he'd seek a master, a stronger mecha, to follow and serve. He's sweet, really, especially after all he's been through."

Optimus hummed, regarding his friend. "What are his spark-glyphs?"

"Serve, Protect, Know," Jazz flashed Prime a grin. "I don't think a better spark could have been called for a smart slave if you tried."

Optimus chuckled softly in agreement, his field indicating a deeper level of interest now, as well as approval for both Jazz and the Praxian. "So he will hopefully be able to fully overcome everything that was done to him. You seem to like him well enough."

"I do, Jazz admitted, unashamed but a touch wary of the fact. "He's been through the pit, hurt worse than most POWs, and all he wants is a strong mech to serve and approval from that mech." He sighed softly through his vents. "I've been in his processors, _watched_ how he deals with pain, trauma and internal conflict, and I still don't understand how he can let go of it all so easily. Once he decided he was safe and I was keeping him, everything before me just stopped being important. Strangest thing I've ever seen."

"And not necessarily a good thing in a mecha, if loosing you will send him into chaos until he settles on someone else." Optimus observed. "Is there anything I can do to aid his progress?"

Jazz stilled, really thinking about it. "I'm fairly sure he'll latch onto Whiplash or Temperance if I'm gone. They're both strong personalities, strong mecha and they have political power he knows about. From what I've gathered, while he's psychopathically loyal to his master, he also transfers loyalties easily once that master is classified as gone." He considered the Prime again. "It wouldn't hurt for him to get to know you, if you have some time. I'm much rather he turn to you than Megatron, or any of the other nobles around here."

"Once you deem him acceptable company I should like to meet him." Optimus replied, indicating his interest in seeing the Praxian but leaving all of the details to Jazz's discretion. There was no point in the pushing the small silver mech with his pet project, not when Optimus himself wanted to see Jazz succeed. "Are you planning to have any special upgrades made to his frame when he can handle it?"

Jazz nodded. "Temperance said it'll be at least a couple hundred vorns, possibly much longer. So it's somewhat a matter of what's available and what specialty he's training for by then. He's already the top candidate for a premium tactical processor system, but if he takes to flying well I might try to get a teleportation system for him. He could handle triple-changer upgrades too, or possibly even more." He laughed and shook his helm. "So the short answer is, yes I'm planning to have some special upgrades installed. No, I have no real idea what yet. He has the spark to handle anything."

Optimus laughed as well, one hand reaching out to gently brush over the silver helm affectionately. "And what about you? How are you doing?" He asked, the tone taking on a softer and more intimate note.

Jazz trilled and leaned into the touch and the rich, powerful field that could only belong to the Prime. It suffused him, thick and alive and ancient and healing just in accepting it to wash through him unresisted. "I'm good, Optimus," he smiled, knowing that he was one of the very, very few to call the Prime by designation and the big mech liked it. He knew exactly what he was being asked about; whether he was still being tortured for his pleasure. It distressed the young Prime, and for that alone Jazz was a bit sad. "I have many mecha who watch out for me. But you," he paused to move close enough to stroke the thick glass of the big mech's chestplates. "You have so few you can relax and just be a mech with."

"All the more reason for me to take care of those few." Optimus replied, wrapping and arm around Jazz and pulling the other mech closer, his field loose, warm and welcoming the mech next to him. "I do worry," he added. Even softer, but not pushing any harder.

"I'm good, Optimus," Jazz promised. "I know what works for me." He cracked a grin and slipped his claws into fine seams that no other lover could manage. "I've been enjoying pleasure in all its forms for a very long time."

The regal looking red mech moaned at the touch, optics dimming in appreciation as he tipped his helm to kiss the silver mech gently. "Including this one?" He purred.

"Oh yes," Jazz purred, the truth of it bright, clear and warmly welcoming in his field. "I very much enjoy what we do." His fingers ghosted across fine plating that didn't really deserve to be called armor. "You feel so good inside me, stretching me. But you field..." he shivered in memory of it. "Oh, my dear Optimus, you have no idea how incredible your field feels when you overload with me."

SxSxSxSxSxSxSxSx S===================S SxSxSxSxSxSxSxS

Another chapter with graphic smut. See my Ao3 account for the full version.

archiveofourown dot org/works/562319/chapters/1101040


	8. Kneeling Before Primus

**Dark Dreamer 8: Kneeling Before Primus**  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ =================== ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jazz led Prowl deep underground, down more than a hundred levels below the hidden citadel that was the shadow caste's domain. It was so deep inside the world that it was actually warmer here than on the surface. It was dark too, the rich darkness that came with warmth and a complete lack of any light. Their optics were useless here. Navigation was by memory and secondary senses. Jazz was used to it. Prowl had to work just to follow in his master's pedes and remember the path without any of the usual navigational markers.

They moved in silence, both their systems designed for it and Jazz was not in the processor-space to talk. It was too serious an orn for it.

He could loose Prowl with this.

He really, _really_ didn't want to loose his pet. He was even willing to admit that Prowl was more than a pet now. He was more than a potential agent. He wasn't willing to go so far as to call Prowl his mate, but Prowl mattered to him more than he should.

Yet as much as Jazz didn't want to do this, it was tradition and law. Before he taught Prowl any more, before Prowl was even permitted to remain in the realm any longer, he had to face this.

This ... Jazz shuddered in the privacy of his processors. Even his memories of it were hazy, but they were full of terror, pain and loss. He'd stumbled out of the chamber alive, something that not all managed. Three orns later he'd also been declared functionally sane, a trick not all survivors managed. He remembered being very angry that he hadn't gotten one clue as to what to expect and even angrier at the order not to share anything of his experience with another short of bonding with that mech.

In time he'd come to understand, but he still despised it. He hated sending the least trained of his clade into a death trap. He always put it off as long as he could, as long as he dared, and he grieved every spark he led to their end because of this room.

With Prowl, he almost balked the tradition completely.

In the end though, he couldn't. He's put it off nearly seventy vorns, teaching Prowl everything he dared first. Bringing the mech up to what those separated into the clade knew, or at least as much as he could within medical restrictions. Prowl was as ready as any new mechling of the clade.

It just was that it wasn't saying much, given almost one in twelve didn't make it out of that room intact enough to survive.

Jazz felt his spark quiver as he paused in front of the door that made or broke every mecha of his clade. None left this room unchanged. Those changes enabled them to do what they did. At least that was what jazz had convinced himself of. It wasn't just tradition. Tradition he could do away with. A useful tradition, a needed thing, that he could not.

He felt Prowl stop a half pace behind him and wait, silent, still and patient for instruction. Prowl wasn't afraid. His spark had grown enough that it could usually be teeked at close range if you were trying. Jazz silently admitted to himself that he was more than afraid. He didn't want to loose his pet, his future agent. Replacing him could be the work of a lifetime and Jazz didn't have the time to devote to it.

Steeling himself, Jazz palmed the door open and stepped into the warm, space twenty places by twenty paces for him, carved into pure crystal. Bright white light radiated up from under the floor to shine, reflect and refract from the faceted walls.

"Kneel," Jazz pointed to the center of the floor. Prowl moved with a fluid, silent grace that made Jazz's vents stall every time. He would never tire of seeing this mech kneel at his pedes so willingly. Ice blue optics looked up at him, trusting, so very trusting. Would they still be trusting when this was over? Jazz didn't know. He'd never been able to tell how a mech would be changed by this room.

"Remain in this room until the door opens," Jazz instructed, the words he said to every mecha he brought here. The words his sire, his leader, had said to him so long ago.

"Yes Master," Prowl's smooth vocals rolled over Jazz, soothing his spark for a moment.

It took all of Jazz's will to turn and walk away without another word, touch or look. He couldn't show favoritism. He didn't dare. Not in that room. He wasn't entirely sure why that was so imprinted in his processors, but it was.

Some things weren't to be questioned.

When the door closed behind him, Jazz sank against it, shaking for a moment as he gathered himself to return to the world above and his duties to the greater good.

Prowl remained completely motionless in the center of the crystalline room. His senses alert, his frame relaxed, his systems primed.

He waited.

His chronometer disabled, he did not know how long he held still, ready for anything, expecting nothing, waiting for this test to end. The light was difficult to focus around. It was too bright, the colors and frequencies bouncing every which way. Combined with the crystal walls it made his vision and much of his other electromagnetic based senses ineffective. It even messed with his sensor wings' ability to judge distance.

It was an unnerving kind of blindness, unsettling in many ways, but it did not bother him much. After his early orns in the box, in the cage, in the places that other masters kept him he had acclimated to far worse. There was no compression here, no physical misery, no expectation of pain to come. This was simply ... emptiness.

He knew when he had been still for two orns when his systems shifted into conservation mode, shifting his tac-net to standby along with other energy hungry systems. It did not bother him. While it reduced his reaction time, it was the tactically more sound of the choices he perceived.

His systems cut back two more times, marking the seven orns and sixteen orns respectively. The next reduction would happen in sixteen more orns. In thirty he would fall into stasis.

He was hungry. Very, very hungry.

He knew hunger. Knew this for what it was and exactly what stage of starvation he was at. It didn't bother him.

Deactivation held no fear for him.

_~Do you wish to return to me?~_ a powerful, warm rumble echoed through Prowl's awareness.

Prowl considered the question, absently curious why he would be hallucinating already, and hallucinating of Primus of all things.

_~You do not believe I am real,~_ the presence was curious now as well.

Prowl paused again, giving the question his full consideration even though he believed he was hallucinating.

"I do not believe that Primus or Unicron are all powerful, all knowing beings," Prowl eventually answered. "I do not believe that one is good and one is evil. It does not fit the data I have."

_~Yet you speak to me as if I am real when you believe I am not.~_ There was real curiosity now.

"If you are real, then it is to my benefit to have this conversation," Prowl explained simply, calmly, and without moving more than was required for speech. "If you are not real, then it does little harm at this stage to indulge myself and my subconscious. A point of fact, however. I do not discount the possibility of their existence. I discount the extent of their power."

_~You do not believe in gods.~_ Amusement flowed from the voice.

"Define what a god is, first," Prowl insisted calmly. "There are many variations. Some are confirmed, others plausible, and some improbable to the ridiculous."

There was a deep rumble of amusement and affection. _~Go to the root glyph for that. Primus. The creator of all Cybertronian life.~_

"I do not have an issue with that," Prowl said calmly. "Just as I have no reason to believe."

_~There is a thing called faith. You have a very strong core of it.~_

Prowl considered that and nodded. "It is not a faith founded in gods, however. I could argue is it less faith and more a choice not to drive myself insane seeking conflict where there may not be any."

_~It is faith.~_

"So you say," Prowl responded, neither refusing nor accepting the statement.

The presence swirled around him, drawing a soft moan of pleasure from him. _~Who do you serve?~_

"Order."

_~Primus or Unicron?~_

"Order," Prowl insisted, shivering as his armor began to loosen in the next stage of energy conservation. The trillions of microfilaments that secured it to his protoform and fed information back and forth drew a lot of power, but were considered high priority for survival. Higher than the processors. It meant he'd been here for thirty two orns, or the energy equivalent to it.

_~Primus or Unicron?~_

"Order." Prowl growled back, his very spark flaring to challenge the unacceptable options.

_~He's rejected you, brother,~_ a new, darker voice chuckled.

_~He has rejected you as well,~_ the first replied and pressed deeper into the spark that was so fresh from himself. It pressed back, growling and defiant, but also not hiding in the least. It didn't shy from the darkness of the devourer as the second presence jointed the first in pressing against Prowl's awareness and spark for answers.

"I rejected neither," Prowl growled back. "You both know you are the same being, split in two. Creator and destroyer. One can not exist long without the other," he snapped, irritated by them and the statements.

The two presences paused, seeming to regard each other.

_~Balance.~_ Primus corrected Prowl.

"Urr?" Prowl tried to follow the conversation he was sure he was only hearing part of.

_~Balance,~_ the brighter one repeated. _~You serve balance. Creation and destruction in equal measure, when things are in balance, or whichever side is needed to bring things into balance.~_

Prowl considered that for a long time, his processors having trouble tracking information and correlating it. Yet it did sound correct. It was Order.

_~You may return to me, if this function is asking too much of your spark,~_ the bright one offered gently. _~I know serving the silver destroyer has already burdened you greatly.~_

It took Prowl too long to work out who was being spoken of. "No. I will adapt, or I will return when I cannot. I am not ready to leave him."

_~Then gather your strength and return to Master. The door has reopened to the physical world.~_

SxSxSxSxSxSxSxSx S===================S SxSxSxSxSxSxSxS

It took everything Jazz had not to react outwardly in the middle of an audience with the Lord Prime, Lord High Protector, six city rulers and a dozen other officials when a small notice popped up on his HUD. A single root glyph with no modifiers.

_Success_

His pet had walked out of that room. It didn't always mean the mecha would survive, but Jazz was sure that it meant Prowl would. He knew his pet. Prowl had none of the instabilities that triggered madness in the following metacycles. Jazz had. Oh yes, Jazz had them. It was a near thing, his survival. He was still marked and heavily scarred by that experience, even if he couldn't remember much of it.

He diverted some attention from the gathering to watch his pet appear on the first of the cameras in his realm and took in his appearance. The slender mostly black protoform was staggering, using various walls for balance and support as often as he could. Pale blue optics where glowing dim and stress-white. The slender nubs that marked where his chevron attached were the only indication that he had one at all, and the slender limb-like appendages, half the length of Prowl's arms, didn't look anything like the elegant sensor wings they supported.

It took a lot of knowledge to recognize this pathetic, struggling creature as his precious, prodigious pet. In the movements and in his destination were important tells, hints as to what kind of mecha had come out of that room. There were creators and there were destroyers. That much everyone knew. It was the very foundation of their society. What only a few knew, and fewer acknowledged, was that every once in a while a mecha would find a different path from that room. Sometimes these mecha were like Jazz, builders on the outside, destroyers at their core. Others served what Jazz referred to as Stasis, the status quo. Their function focused on making sure things didn't change too much. There were never that many of them, but they were a powerful force within the ranks and often a serious thorn in Jazz's side that he couldn't remove.

Privately Jazz expected Prowl to be a builder. All who craved knowledge the way he did were. They built networks without peer, unstoppable viruses, unbreakable defenses, made plans and designed worlds. It didn't matter what they focused on, they always gathered and built. Jazz had heard that one would be a destroyer now and then, but in his long life he hadn't actually met one. At least to Jazz, Prowl didn't have the spark to be a destroyer. He could be trained to destroy, could likely be taught to enjoy it, but it wasn't in his core makeup.

Prowl's abrupt shift from his unsteady stumble focused more of Jazz's attention inward to watch. These were such critical moments to witness. The protoform, one Jazz knew really had no business moving under its own power at this point, straitened, the protoform wings jerked upwards in something resembling Prowl's more commanding posture and he stalked across the hallway. Jazz could see exactly what had drawn his attention, there was a mecha standing there with energon, chatting with two others, but not why the normally docile, subservient and never-denied-here mech felt the need to posture.

The speakers did what they were supposed to and pretended that the protoform didn't exist. Right up to and including when Prowl snatched the energon cube from his hand. A startled look, carefully focused on his hand, and then it was dropped to his side as he continued to talk with his friends while Prowl gulped the contents down, then continued on his way.

Jazz couldn't help but grin at the fire that little display represented. His pet was maturing into a fine mech.

The track followed Prowl all the way to their quarters and once against Jazz beamed inside. Unarmored, disoriented, his processors mostly off line, badly depleted, a mecha always went to where they felt the most safe. He'd done his job then, convincing Prowl's very spark that those rooms were a haven, a place of safety.

He continued to watch as Prowl slumped against the wall next to the energon dispenser and tapped the codes for medical grade, then settled to wait the few moments it took the device to route and condense and purify flier high grade into something that thin and easy to swallow but concentrated.

Prowl had good survival instincts too.

Jazz could barely wait to get out of this gathering and go greet his pet.


	9. Rebuilding Bonds

Another explicit chapter, so off to Ao3 if you want to read it all.**  
**

archiveofourown dot org/works/562319/chapters/1131452

**Dark Dreamer 9: Rebuilding Bonds**  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ =================== ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prowl booted up, the slow progression of medical overrides, and relaxed into it. Medical meant safe. Master's field brushed against his plating and he flared his field out to caress it in return, happy and eager to be with Master once more. The past metacycle had been extremely distressing and he desperately wished to forget, but he knew the most he could do was tag it as distressing and archive it to long term storage as quickly as he could process it for anything he needed to keep active awareness of.

He had his armor back. Someone must have retrieved it. It felt so good to be covered again. Very good. It felt better to feel Master's hands on his plating and the steady strength of his field. Warm, strong, commanding, balanced ... balanced enough.

Prowl noted the new perspective and looked more closely, studying it for an origin and purpose. His processors nearly stalled completely when he found it.

The room, those beings, had changed his very spark code.

He knew his distress was pouring off him. He knew Master and the medic were trying to reach him. All he could do was stare at his own spark code and try to comprehend the glyph that had been stripped out and replaced by something he wasn't even entirely sure he understood. Yet the missing glyph was the one that caused him so much distress and displeased Master. As strange as it felt, he could not be displeased at that.

Ice blue optics powered up and focused on Master as the soothing calm of acceptance washed through Prowl. He reached up weakly to take Master's hand and kissed it.

Jazz's field immediately relaxed, soothed by the contact. "How are you feeling?"

"Slightly disoriented, Master," Prowl admitted.

"That is normal, my lovely, perfect pet," Jazz said reassuringly, his engine purring at the contact and response and he leaned down to capture Prowl's mouth in a welcoming kiss. Prowl's hands came up to caress Jazz's sides, fingers teasing his master's seams as his field licked along the silver mech's with open desire.

"Not disoriented enough to behave," Temperance huffed. "If you're that amorous, you can get out."

"Yes, ma'am," Jazz laughed with relief and teasing as he stood upright and offered a hand to Prowl to help him to his pedes. It wasn't needed, but it was a gesture Jazz knew made Prowl feel wanted. And oh was he wanted. The flicker and brush of Prowl's field against his was proof enough that at least this much hadn't changed.

They made it to their quarters in record time, given Prowl still didn't have an alt mode. It was all a blur until time slowed down on their berth with Prowl relaxed on his back and Jazz sprawled on top of him, their mouths joined and hands caressing, exploring, seeking to wipe a metacycle of absence and stress away.

Jazz could feel the difference in his pet's field, and to a lesser extent in his touch. Like every mecha that went into that room, Prowl had been changed on a fundamental level. He had matured, rapidly and unnaturally, but Jazz knew that it was the least of the changes made in his pet. He stroked Prowl's main dataport, the one under his collar plating. It spiraled open eagerly.

Prowl's field flared eagerly, almost grasping at the smaller mech in his desire to have Master _inside_ him.

"Shu, shu," Jazz crooned as he unspooled his cable. "I'm here. I'm with you."

Under him Prowl whined and squirmed, _wanting_ so badly it ached. The moment Jazz clicked in a wave of relief-welcome washed through Prowl, making him shiver and moan. Firewalls, now good enough to keep Jazz out for a respectable chunk of time fell like gossamer mist, clearing his view of his pet's processors to the crystal perfection he had long known.

He touched it with a thought and gazed for a moment, sending Prowl the wonder he always felt here. He felt the returning shivers and caught Prowl's mouth in another kiss as he pushed forward through the hardline, exploring what changes had happened in that room. The first thing that hit him was that Prowl had a _perfect_, to the nanoklik complete memory of the entire metacycle.

~May I?~ Jazz asked, one of the few occasions when he would give his pet a real choice in something. In response, Prowl guided him forward to the moment when the silence had first been broken by the voice.

He watched and listened through Prowl's senses to an experience that was so vastly different from his own in that room that he forgot, for a moment, to mask his stunned surprise and the emotion went surging through the hardline. He felt Prowl tense beneath him and fingers tightened around his hips, concerned. Jazz immediately paused and pulled back from the memory.

~Shu, shu,~ Jazz cooed, kissing his pet gently. ~I've never known anyone to recall more than a hazy sense of what they chose. That you remember is remarkable.~ He paused, kissing him again. ~That it wasn't simply an hallucination I was not ready for.~

Prowl nodded, welcoming the kisses and offering a sense of understanding. ~Do you want to view the rest?~

~Yes,~ Jazz whispered, and sank back into the memory, this time more prepared to hear the voices that he only dimly remembered as being background to his own near-insanity. They had echoed inside him, made his frame reverberate down to his spark. In his memories, they mixed with the sounds of his own voice, cracked with static as he flung out screams and protests and curses in response to their choices.

But _Prowl_...Prowl had _spoken_ with them, engaged them in calm, logical argument.

Prowl had refused to choose one of them, and he had lived.

_"Balance,"_ Jazz heard in Primus's voice. The memory moved forward and he heard Prowl's request to remain with him, and he sent a surge of gratitude and affection through to the mech, for choosing of his own will to return.

The memory made it all too clear that it was not a fear of deactivation that kept him in his frame. In fact, the fear and pain that was so prevalent in the bits and pieces of Jazz's experience seemed completely absent from Prowl's.

His pet simply did not find such things terrifying.

It was amazing. And it drew Jazz's interest to what else had changed, subtle but there.

Prowl's spark.

There was no resistance, only an uneasy acceptance in Prowl as Jazz worked his way to the young spark and nudged it for its glyphs.

The four swirled around him before settling to be read. Four he expected, but even before reading them he knew it would not be the pattern of every other agent.

_Serve_  
_Know_  
_Create_  
_Destroy_

No where was _Protect_, the glyph that had nearly driven Prowl mad in his efforts to both protect and serve his master.

Carefully masking his own fascination and pleasure at the changes, something that he was going to fully explore later, Jazz looked up into Prowl's optics. ~How do you feel about this?~ he asked. ~Does it please you?~

~It will make functioning easier,~ Prowl said carefully, investigating the concept of being pleased. It still wasn't a glyph he understood well. ~Yes, I believe it pleases me.~

~Good,~ Jazz purred, gently backing away from the deep center of Prowl's processor, slipping back up until he was on a level Prowl was comfortable with. He sent a heavy pulse of desire through the hardline and immediately felt it mirrored back. ~I have been impatient to have you back,~ he said, and tucked the discoveries he'd made in Prowl's memories and spark away to be contemplated later. Right now...

He wanted to claim his pet all over again, and he started by pushing forward with a deep, searing kiss.

Like always and in all things, Prowl welcomed him, met his advance and matched it with all the passion and desire in him.

Strong dark hands moved along Jazz's flanks, Prowl's desire to reacquaint just as intense. He adored Master and very much wanted Master to know it in every way possible.

Jazz slid their frames together, heating quickly under Prowl's hands. He'd craved this more than he was willing to admit, gone so far as to seek out partners with similar frames to Prowl. Even Whiplash had commented, and Jazz couldn't bring himself to care. Not when this-_this_, he thought with a gasp as fingers moved around to his back and aft-was his to have and own. He swirled their glossas together, already worked to the point of moaning with just that little contact.

and this is where it gets explicit, so off to Ao3 if you want to read it.

archiveofourown dot org/works/562319/chapters/1131452


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